Just for Now
by Decadebaby
Summary: A trip does not go as planned, and the McCords must manage their way through the unexpected.
1. Chapter 1

He didn't want to go. It was as simple as that. The room had a sunny balcony with not one, but two comfortable couches, and he had no less than three good books with him. And the thought of standing with a smile plastered across his face through a series of boring speeches filled him with dread. Perhaps it was the knowledge that a dinner and reception loomed in his future. Three events in one day seemed a cruel way to spend a beautiful day. Most of the time he was content in his role but every now and then he did feel like Elizabeth's arm candy - a decorative add-on to her appearances. What could he offer at the second round of opening speeches at an economic summit that was meant to bring peace to two opposing nations?

But he didn't want to tell her that. She had attended enough conferences at his side. No doubt she had wanted to stay behind during one _his_ summits. She was certainly more than intelligent enough to participate in any discussion - theological or otherwise, but surely talking about substantiation bored her from time to time. And yet she had smiled warmly and genuinely, looking gorgeous as always. How could he turn to her and say, "I would rather stay in this afternoon."? He sighed and contemplated the suit laid out across the bed.

"You don't have to go." She said stepping out of the bathroom, as she put on an earring. She was wearing her light grey suit and a pink blouse. She looked, as ever, beautiful.

"What . . ." He stammered trying to regain his balance. Sometimes it was unsettling the way she read his mind.

"Well, if I were you. I wouldn't want to go. It's a really nice day, and this room - well let's face it, this room is amazing. If I were you," She said stepping closer with a warm smile. "I would take my pile of books outside on that balcony and order room service." She wrapped an arm around him.

"The optics would be bad." He argued, trying not to give in to the overwhelming temptation of her generous offer. A wave of relief swept over him. _I don't have to go!_ And then he was hit immediately with guilt. _Don't be a jerk. Just tag along._

"You've spent too much time listening to Daisy." She grinned. "It is just a quick couple of speeches. It shouldn't be more than an hour or two. The main event is tonight at the reception. Don't think you are getting out of that."

"I should . . ."

"You afraid you are going to miss something?" She teased him with a laugh. "Here." She took a step away from him. "Our two nations must honor each other. We must find a way to create a new world together while continuing to cherish the old world." She winked at him. "Now, it's like you were there."

He pulled her in close to him, offering her a kiss. "Well, I wouldn't mind skipping it. But I feel a little guilty."

"I know." She winked at him again. "I plan to put that guilt to good use in the future."

He laughed out loud. "It's a set-up. I should've known."

"Well, Henry," She pointed out. "I'm a spy, remember. What do you expect?"

"You're an analyst, Lizzie." He corrected her. "And your devious nature was with you from birth."

She said nothing but rested her head against his shoulder, exhaling as she did. "I miss you calling me that." She said after a long moment.

It was a conscious decision he'd made when she accepted the office. He understood that although the world was full of powerful women, there were some idiots around who still questioned whether a woman could effectively serve in such a lofty position. _He_ had no doubts - never had any doubts when it came to Elizabeth. She was born to lead, and while he recognized that he would probably never change the backward minds of the doubters, he could do some things to lessen their doubts. And so, he decided to never call her anything other than Elizabeth in public. She had, of course, noticed it and threatened to start referring to him as Dr. McCord at all times. But in the long run, she understood that some might hesitate to put the political fate of their nation in the hands of a woman named "Lizzie". Unfortunately, the end result of forcing himself not to call her Liz or Lizzie, he ended up never calling her anything at all; never saying her name.

"It's just for now. It's just for this small piece of our lives." He said softly.

This is what they'd been saying from the day the President had shown up and upset the balance of their lives. She would serve in this office and it would be an adventure - an aberration to the normal flow. When it was over, they would settle back into the old life or perhaps find a new journey to manage together. Sometimes, though, if he were completely honest, he mourned what they'd left behind - missed all that had been changed. She missed it too - the easy way between them - sharing all their thoughts and struggles. She had to hold back now - there were things she couldn't say. It brought back all the old stresses of when she'd been at the Company. It was one of the reasons she'd quit. She hated having a life secret and apart from him.

She drew in a deep breath, and kissing him, she moved out of the circle of her arms, and straightened her jacket. Elizabeth McCord was never still or quiet for very long. "Alright," She said to him. "Enough nonsense, Dr. McCord. You stay here and read one of those books about the meaning of our existence, whilst I go and broker world peace, again."

"Yes, ma'am, Madam Secretary." He teased her.

And so, under orders, he'd sat in the warm sunshine, a cup coffee at his elbow reading beautiful words in a beautiful setting. It was a perfect afternoon, marred only by the fact that she wasn't stretched out beside him. The only sounds had been the voices from far below and the birds overhead. But suddenly the voices grew louder and his peace was interrupted as what appeared to be the entire security detail who suddenly rushed him inside the room, closing all doors and windows.

"Was there a threat?" He asked, wide-eyed, a worn book still in his fingers. He glanced over at the tv that was turned on, and the book fell to the floor with a crash as his eyes grew wider still at the horrible scene. The quiet early afternoon reception and round of speeches were held in a small outdoor garden just fifteen minutes from where he stood. The cameras locked on his beautiful wife as she smiled brightly and then . . .he saw it.

The impossibly complicated, strong woman in a light grey suit being propelled forward - nearly flying through the air - as her security staff tried to protect from the explosion that appeared to have originated just to the left of her. He didn't want to watch it but couldn't take his eyes off it either. She looked so small. She looked so fragile. She looked like someone named Lizzie.


	2. Chapter 2

He wanted to go, now! Everything narrowed - his vision blurred and all sound became muffled. His heart began to pound as adrenaline flooded his system. He couldn't stay he had to go; he had to get to her!

_Lizzie!_

"Dr. McCord," He blinked and tried to focus on the face in front of him. "Sir, please sit down."

He fought against the strong arms that pushed him down onto the couch.

"Sir, please."

"I have to . . . I . . . Let me . . ." He couldn't breathe. _Lizzie!_

"Put your head down." A firm, yet still gentle hand was on his shoulder. "Dr. McCord, put your head between your knees."

He leaned forward, trying to catch his breath. Even as he did his eyes caught the image again on the screen as they repeated it. It started out calm - a normal, boring reception. Elizabeth's face lit up with a typical Elizabeth smile, and then suddenly, her eyes grew wide. She turned her body as if to run, and then she was being propelled through the air, and out of camera range as everything exploded. He lifted a shaking arm pointing.

"Do they . . . what about . . . is she . . ." He couldn't manage a full sentence.

"Turn it off!" One of the agents shouted and the TV turned black.

"Dr. McCord." The agent's earnest face seemed suddenly unfamiliar and unsettling. He glanced around the room feeling panic setting in, and he desperately tried to calm his racing heart. _Who are all these people? How did we get here?_

He somehow managed to focus but was unable to think of the name of the agent in front of him. _Byron? Brian? _He blinked trying to somehow form words.

"Wh . . . Wh . . .what is . . ."

"It's going to be a few minutes." The agent squatted down, meeting him at eye level. "Things are chaotic right now. We are waiting to hear from Fred. I know it seems like an eternity, but we should have something soon."

_Brad. That was his name._

"Brad." His voice sound hollow and flat even to his own ears. "Don't . . . Just tell me . . .If she's dead . . ." He swallowed unable to continue as thousands of images of Elizabeth flooded his mind.

"We don't know anything, sir. We can't get information. The bombs interrupted our system. We sent someone there. They'll check in with us as soon as they can." He squeezed his shoulder.

"Bombs?" He shouted. _Oh, God! Please, no! Not Elizabeth!_

"Sir, we don't have all the information just yet." Brad's voice was steady, and calm. "There were three bombs. We don't know the extent of the damage. But Fred was there. He will contact us."

"Unless he is dead." Henry spit out, his face a mask of anger.

"Were they broadcasting the speech?" Brad asked him. "Do you remember if Nadine said anything about it? Would it be on the news?"

"The kids!" He choked out, fumbling for his phone.

"It won't work." Another agent said from across the room. "Everything's jammed. It's like the whole country is trying to call at the same time."

"Get the sat phone." Brad demanded and Henry looked up surprised by the agent's tone. He glanced down at Henry - their eyes meeting. "She always watches her mom." Brad explained.

_Oh, God! Noodle! _

He was right, of course. He'd been the agent most often stationed at their house. He was just as familiar with his daughter's habits, as he was. Alison had watched every speech, every press release - she memorized her mother's schedule.

Brad handed him the heavy satellite phone. He tried to dial but his eyes were still blurred by tears and his hands shook. _Lizzie! What am I supposed to do? __What the hell was he going to say to them?_

Brad took the phone and dialed before handing it back. "Tell them Fred is there with her. Tell them we are handling it."

***MS***

She was supposed to be finishing her chapter summaries. But Stevie had gone outside with Jason. She could hear the steady thump of the basketball and the constant chatter of their voices as they trash-talked each other. She knew she should get right to work. It was late already. But she also wanted to watch another episode of _Pretty Little Liars_ and this might be her only chance. It was embarrassing to admit it but she was hopelessly addicted, but there was no way she would ever tell anyone in her family. They would tease her if they knew. Her mother would lecture her on female stereotypes and the misrepresentation of the teenage female. She clicked the TV on and was about to switch over to Netflix when she saw a scene of utter chaos.

"Everything is just coming in now," The reporter was saying. "We know very little for sure. It has been confirmed that there was a bomb and Secretary of State, Elizabeth McCord was in attendance. We do not know, at this time, if she survived." The words echoed over and over again in her ears.

The screen changed and she could see her mother, smiling, and for half a second she thought, _"Oh, there she is! She's alright!" _And then it all changed. Her mother was standing beside two men who shook hands with each other. Another man, a soldier maybe, it was difficult to see clearly, rushed forward. She couldn't see her mother's face. And then she watched, pale and shaking, as her mother turned- moving as if to run away. And then all she could see was Fred's shoulder as he pushed her mother forward, propelling her away from the view of the camera as everything exploded.

***MS***

"Where's Noodle?" He fought to keep his voice even and calm.

"I. . . I . . . Dad, she's, I dunno." He could hear as Stevie fought to keep things in control.

"Honey, can you . . ."

"They went upstairs to find her. Did they say anything yet?" She kept an arm tight around Jason, who was uncharacteristically still.

"They? They who?" He was finding it difficult to focus. Everything was taking too long.

"The State Department. Jay is here and a couple other people - I don't, I can't remember . . . Dad?" She stopped talking then, as she began to cry.

Listening to his children sobbing shattered what was left of his heart. He brushed at his face, wiping away tears, and tried to ignore that seven agents were in the room with him.

"Stevie, c'mon, honey. We just got to wait. Okay? Sweetheart?"

_Was this his future? Trying to convince his children that the world would go on spinning without Elizabeth in it? Spending his days and nights attempting to comfort them; alone without her - without his heart? _ He shuddered.

"They found Ali." Stevie sniffed. "She was in the closet, hiding."

_Oh, God! She had been watching._

"Put her on the phone." His voice came out harsher than he'd intended. He wished he could see their faces - longed to wrap his arms around them. The ocean that separated them seemed an impossible void.

"She won't come here." Stevie sighed and despite the horrific situation he recognized the usual big sister/little sister tension in her voice.

"Take her the phone." He spoke slowly. Stevie was a lovely mirror of Elizabeth - generally capable in any situation. It was uncharacteristic of her not to understand that Ali was upset - and afraid - too afraid to talk to him. He highlighted the fact that she was in shock - they all were. He tried to keep his voice even and reassuring - although he had no real assurances to give her. "Honey, she was probably watching the speech."

"Yeah, she was." Stevie responded, meekly. "Daddy, I'm sorry. Just a sec."

_Daddy? Jesus! He couldn't remember the last time she'd called him that! _

He felt himself slipping - losing control. He wished that Jason would talk - that he could see Stevie's face - that he could wrap comforting arms around Ali's thin body - that he and Elizabeth were snuggled together on the couch watching a movie. He waited, hearing muffled voices and then he heard Alison - not the sound of her voice - but her sobs.

"Hey, hey, Noodle. Honey, listen, I know it looked really . . ." He closed his eyes as the images came rushing back. "Ali? Sweetheart. . ."

"Daddy, she's dead. I saw it."

"We don't anything, yet. Fred was right there. He got to her right away." He attempted.

"You . . . you are okay? You weren't there?"

It wasn't an accusation but it hit him like a ton of bricks. He was openly sobbing now; helpless. He was aware of a commotion behind him, but tried to comfort his weeping daughter.

"No, I'm fine. I," He struggled. "I saw it, too, baby. They can't communicate with us yet. The . . ." He couldn't say the word bombs. "They had to go there and then they'll be able to tell us. We don't know anything yet." He looked up as Brad walked toward him.

"CNN said six people were killed." Her voice rose in pitch. "They said it was unlikely she could have survived. Daddy?"

He had missed the last part of what she said, as Brad had leaned in, whispering two words in his ear. He found himself sliding to the floor, the phone in his lap. Great heaving sobs shook his body.

"Dr. McCord," Brad was kneeling in front of him again, pushing the phone back up to his ear. "Tell them."

He nodded, drawing in a deep steadying breath. "Noodle, listen Noodle. Are you listening?"

"Yes." Her response was a near whisper.

"Put me on speakerphone, honey." He waited for the familiar click. "Jason? Stevie? Are you listening?"

"We are all here." Stevie's spoke for them, and he could easily picture her in the center, her arms around them both.

"Okay. I gotta . . . I gotta go in a sec. One of the agents," He glanced behind him, searching their faces.

"Adam." One of the agents said before he even asked.

"Adam is gonna get on the phone with you guys. He'll answer all your questions, but I've got to go."

"No! Dad!" Jason shouted, his voice heavy with anger and fear.

"I'm going to your, Mom, buddy." He said choking on the words. "She's alive."


	3. Chapter 3

Agent Fred Cole wanted nothing more than to get the Secretary of State to the speech platform. However, Madam Secretary had other plans. She _always_ had other plans. She shook the hands of twenty-four people on the way to the platform and paused for pictures with two little girls. He could hear Carl grumbling in his headset the entire time.

Guarding her wasn't easy. She was unpredictable and far from passive. She asked questions and made suggestions. Being ex-CIA, she tended to be just as hyper-aware of her surroundings as he was. And she was completely unwilling to sacrifice the "normalcy" of her children's lives. She was polite and would apologize to him and every single member of his staff, but if her son Jason wanted to go to Fright Night at the local theme park with all his friends - then his security detail damn well better pick out their costumes. It made his life complicated and his work more difficult, from time to time, but he respected her for it. At least he wasn't wasting his life trying to guard a man with secret girlfriends and a lifetime of lies.

He admired her. She wasn't like anyone he'd protected before. She wasn't a political insider. She had her own approach to things - and she managed things herself - didn't pass it along to an underling. If something needed to be done, she got it done. She wasn't controlled by the "D.C way of doing things." He would smile inwardly when her staff would tell her, "That isn't how it is done." He would watch her face change - almost as though accepting a challenge, and she would raise an eyebrow, and say, "Oh, really?" Then he knew it would be a late night at the office or in meetings, but somehow he didn't mind. It was good to watch someone _do _something for a change.

And it was certainly different to guard an intact, honest to God, real family. The first time he'd stepped into her office a beat to quickly and found her with her arms wrapped around someone, lost in a passionate kiss, he'd been stunned to discover it was her husband who broke away, blushing and embarrassed.

"Hello, Fred." He had said politely. "We, uh, didn't hear you come in."

He was used to people with complicated lives with secrets and lies. The McCords were nothing like that. And despite his training, he found himself becoming attached. He realized he'd probably have to be asked to be reassigned - caring about people was never helpful, but he'd miss it; miss them - miss her stubbornness and sharp wit.

He had been scanning the outdoor venue the entire time the speeches were given. He'd had an unsettled feeling about this whole trip. And just this morning had awakened from a strange dream - his feet in quicksand and him unable to move - unable to run. He chalked it up to strange places and strange food but still he'd told her just this morning, "If it's not too much trouble ma'am, could you avoid darting into the middle of a crowd?"

"Oh, Fred!" She'd laughed. "You are always worrying! I'm not important enough for someone to try and kill."

"All the same, ma'am. It's easier for my staff if you stick to just a straight walk in."

And she'd grinned that damn grin of hers and offered with a wink, "But easy doesn't build character, difficulty does. Don't you care about the people on your staff having a strong center?"

He'd just shook his head. There was nothing to say to her. If Dr. McCord were here, he would raise an eyebrow and offer a knowing shrug. He never minded the husband tagging along - it was like having another agent. Dr. McCord was razor sharp and kept a constant watchful eye on his wife. His staff had pinned the code name: James Bond on Henry McCord. And it was a fairly accurate fit. Twice, Henry had pointed out suspicious people in crowds _before_ his agents had noticed it. Fred was pretty sure that if anything ever did go down, Dr. McCord would do his job for him and he'd play backup.

"There's a disturbance in the crowd." Carl spoke in his ear. "Nine o'clock."

He looked in the crowd and could see a man shifting as a little girl reached for a doll which had fallen. It was one of the two little girls the Secretary had taken a picture with.

"All clear. Kid dropped her doll." But even as he said it , it didn't ring true. What was a little girl doing here? Why would kids be at speeches for an economic summit?

"Wait." He spoke into the mic at his wrist again. "Something isn't right."

The Secretary of State had turned her head - hyper aware of all around her, as always. She raised eyebrows in question and took a half-step toward him. The man who was handing the doll back to the little girl, didn't hand it to her. Instead, he rushed toward the platform, the doll under his arm like a football.

"Shut it down!" He shouted and everyone sprang into action then. The attacker continued forward, undeterred, as the crowd began to move - unsure of what was happening. She was already moving toward him, and away from the center of the platform, one hand stretched out behind her to pull at least one ambassador with her. The two ambassadors and their staff looked around, confused and unaware of danger.

There was no time and he stepped between them. He had no patience for her heroics. He had to get her out of harms way. He yanked her up off her feet, surprised by how very little she weighed and propelled her foreword. The blast hit as they both were mid air, and he landed, hard, his body curled over hers; protecting her.

"Get the car! I can get her to the south portico." He yelled but could only hear static in his ringing ears. "Ma'am!" He rose, pulling her with him.

"The little girls . . ." She gestured behind her - unaware that her face was covered in blood. Her wrist dangled awkwardly as she tried to point. But grabbing her, he ignored her completely as the second and third bombs hit - somewhere behind them. She was able to keep her feet under her and they ran forward together.

"Keep moving." He commanded. "Can anyone hear me?" He spoke into his headset, but still he got no response. He continued forward and around the side of the museum, leaving the smoke, chaos and screaming behind. There were three secure cars parked nearby. The closest was not too far from them. She was still keeping pace with him, but he could tell she wouldn't last much longer.

"Henry?" She asked somewhat dazed. Her pace slowed as the impact of her injuries surfaced. She was probably in great pain. Reaching over he lifted her up into his arms and doubled his pace toward the waiting car. She made no protest which concerned him greatly.

"He stayed back, ma'am. He's at the hotel, remember?"

He reached the car and entered the code on the door, gently setting her in the back. He climbed in front and reached for the radio, even as he revved the engine.

"Can anyone copy me? This is command, I've got Sharpshooter in the car. We are en route to Mercy." Again there was no response. He felt uneasy. Where was everyone? They'd been struggling with their communications systems since they'd arrived. Protocol was always to get the principal away from the scene at all costs, but no one would know where they were, and he had no way of knowing what had happened. He glanced in the rear view mirror and saw that she was half leaning over, her shoulder against the seat. She held her cell phone in her hand and kept attempting to push buttons though the face of the phone was completely shattered.

"I gotta call, Henry." She said seeing he was looking at her. "He's gonna be pissed!"

Her bright blue eyes shone but she shed no tears. He had only once seen her cry - and then not even for herself. They'd visited a children's cancer center, and in the elevator as they'd left he'd glanced down to see her crying silently. He'd turned his head, looking away, respecting her privacy as best he could in cramped elevator.

"We'll get word to him, ma'am. But we have to get you to the hospital."

"That's twenty-five minutes from here! I'm fine. Taking me to the hotel first. Henry will be so worried!" This speech would've been much more convincing if she wasn't holding a hand over the side of her head, her fingers red with blood. They'd both landed hard on the ground. He'd heard the sound of her head striking the concrete.

"No, ma'am. He can meet us there." He reached into his pocket to find his backup phone and radio but his pocket was gone, the equipment along with it - and he realized the whole side of his jacket was torn. He glanced back into the mirror again glad she was still sitting up enough so that he could see her face.

"Annie was behind us. Did you see her? Was she okay? My staff was in the back or in the hall still, right?" She asked, her voice high-pitched and the pace of her words rapid-fire fast. Her voice was too loud for the confines of the car, but he realized, like himself, her ears were probably still ringing from the blast - blasts. He was grateful that she was still talking, though. He was worried about her head injury and at least this way he would know if she began to slur her words or lose consciousness.

His mind flicked back over the last few minutes considering her question. Annie was standing behind the two speakers - slightly to the left. He sighed softly. The blast had probably killed her. It was a damn shame. It was her first big job and he had been impressed with her - she would've been a great agent.

"Daisy was in the back." He told her, knowing from experience that trying to dodge the question would never work. "The rest of them wanted more of that coffee."

"Henry's gonna be so ticked." She repeated, her voice catching on her husband's name and he looked up to meet her eyes in the rearview mirror. Her face was bloody and scratched, her blue eyes giant with fear and bright with tears. He found the sight of a lone tear making it's way down her cheek more terrifying than any bomb.

"We'll get you to him, ma'am." He said pushing the gas pedal all the way to the floor.

***MS***

The ride to the hospital was interminably long. Henry kept glancing around and it seemed he was looking at the same damn tree - as if they weren't moving at all. They chattered all around him - speaking to each other and into headsets which were finally working again, but he couldn't understand their words - couldn't hear them over the loud pounding of his own heartbeats. He turned to Brad beside him.

"What did they say again?"

"Fred got her to a car and took her straight to the hospital. The whole communications system went down in the blast, and he couldn't let us know where she was until he got to the hospital."

"But she's okay?" He asked again.

"The doctor is with her, Dr. McCord. She was injured. We don't know how badly, yet."

Henry nodded his head and turned to look out the window again. He was pretty sure Brad _did_ know how badly she was hurt, but for some reason didn't want to tell him.

"She was conscious, though? Did they say that?" He asked.

"I don't know, Dr. McCord."

_Be thankful. _He told himself over and over. _She's alive. "Be patient in affliction."_ He quoted to himself. He let out a long sigh turning toward Brad.

"I guess it's time to find out if all those words I've read really hold up." He told the young agent.

Brad nodded his head, but Henry could tell he didn't understand. Maybe he'd forgotten that Henry's life work was the study of the very things that sustained people when calamity befell them. _Elizabeth would've understood it._ He thought bitterly. _She would've laughed. _ But even thinking of her, he felt dangerously close to losing it. He was trying very hard not to think of the sound of her laughter or way her hand felt in his - fitting perfectly.

***MS***

Fred had entered the hospital with the United States Secretary of State in his arms. She had lost consciousness just as they pulled up the front of the hospital. He lifted her up into his arms and sprinted all out toward the door of the hospital. Two orderlies who thankfully spoke perfect English, brought out a gurney. They were very calm - no doubt used to hysterical people in a crisis.

"We'll get her inside." One told him. "But you are injured, too. Why don't we . . ."

"That is the United States Secretary of State, I am Agent Frederick Cole, and we need to get her into a secure room, now." He interrupted them, startling them. He held out his badge and they immediately took her inside.

"Level Four!" The orderly shouted as he entered, and then the hospital seemed to explode with action. He never left her though, sticking close to the gurney as they wheeled her away and up several floors to a secluded hall of the hospital. He had followed her into a small room, when two men approached him.

"I am Dr. Chen." The shorter of the two men told him. "I"ll be taking care of the Secretary. This is Ahmel Aziz, he is head of security. He will brief you while I see to her injuries. Then you will allow someone to make sure you are alright."

"You are injured, sir." A orderly said as he watched the doctor step into the small room.

"I need a phone." The doctor had already turned from him, and to Secretary McCord. "Get him a phone and then take him to . . ."

"I'm not leaving." He glared at the doctor.

"If she requires surgery, you will." The doctor glared back.

They had compromised and he allowed a doctor to look at him as he stood in the corner of her room. He was relieved when she had regained consciousness, but was being anything but cooperative. If it wasn't for the dire situation, he could've laughed at the doctor's attempts to keep her still.

"They are bringing everyone injured here?" She asked. "What about those little girls? Is Daisy alright? Can someone bring me a phone?"

"Ma'am, please. You have a serious concussion. I need you to lie back and be still. We need to get you to x-ray. I know that wrist is broken, but it is unclear whether anything else is broken, too."

She completely ignored the doctor, turning instead to Fred. "Did you talk to Henry? What about the kids? Allison always tries to watch my speeches or at least any reports about them."

The doctor had just finished wrapping his arm and putting it in a sling. He raised an eyebrow in question to the doctor who nodded and stepped back. He moved closer and stood beside her bed.

"I talked with everyone. The kids are fine. Henry is on his way here."

"Why can't I have a phone? I am alright." She leaned forward as though to climb out of bed.

"Madam Secretary, please!" The doctor cried out in frustration.

"Madam Secretary, you are injured. You are in shock right now, but trust me. You are _not_ alright. And if you don't lie back in that bed right now and listen to the doctor, I will force you to do so." His voice was cold and stern.

She sat back, her shoulders resting against the pillows. "I don't think you are allowed to put your hands on me, Fred."

"Well, I'm the top of the chain of command right now."

"My husband might have something to say about it."

"I am confident that Dr. McCord would be in total agreement with me, ma'am. Stop being difficult and listen to the doctor."

She glared at him, but settled back, turning to the doctor. "You did an x-ray, already."

"That was a CT scan, Madam Secretary. We need to x-ray your arm."

"Oh." She closed her eyes briefly, her face tense with pain.

"Now, can you tell me, completely honestly," Dr. Chen, continued gently, "Are there any other injuries? Do you have pain anywhere else?"

She laughed at this, but lifted her hand to her head as she did so. "I have absolutely no idea. I don't really feel anything at all. Like I told you. I've got a headache and my ears are ringing." She hesitated, her voice softening. "Fred, you said Henry is coming here?"

"Yes, ma'am. He's on his way." He moved a step closer, unsure if it would be in appropriate to put a reassuring hand on her arm.

She turned back to the doctor. "I'm sorry . . .I'm . . . I know I need the x-ray, but can it wait?" There was a catch in her voice, and she hesitated before continuing. "I'd like to wait until my husband is here."

The doctor nodded his head. "That would be fine." He turned to Fred. "Tell me when her husband arrives." And with another nod at Elizabeth he left the room.

"What about Daisy? You said Daisy was at the speech." She closed her eyes again, her right hand lifted to shade them. He crossed the room, dimming the lights before responding.

"Daisy is fine. She was far from the blast. They got her back inside."

"Good." She said softly, but after just a second her eyes snapped open. "You didn't say everyone was alright. You should've said that. 'They got Daisy inside, so everyone is alright.' That's what you should've said." She leaned forward. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Why don't we wait for Henry." Hoping that just this once she would allow him to dodge a question.

"Henry? You don't call him that! I've never heard you call him that! Fred! Tell me!" She was sitting up now, and her monitors began to beep, bringing in a nurse.

"Sit back, please, Madam Secretary. You need to calm down." The nurse turned toward Agent Cole, glaring. "What did you say to her?"

"She was asking about the people on her staff." He said. The nurse turned back to the Secretary of State, pushing her back down against the pillows.

"Ma'am. I know you are upset. He is in surgery, right now. We will have to wait and see, but Dr. Patang is one of the best surgeons we have. I'm sure he will be able to save the leg."

Her eyes grew huge, and she sat up again. "FRED!"

"Matt decided he wanted to hear it after all. He came out and couldn't find Daisy, so he," He sighed. "You know how clumsy and awkward he is. He meant to stay toward the back, but somehow found himself near the front on the opposite side of the platform. He was hit in the secondary blast. His leg was badly injured." He moved closer to the bed, gently pushing her shoulder so that she lay back against the pillows. "Henry will be here. I'm going to meet him downstairs and bring him to you. Matt isn't going to die. They just aren't sure about his leg."

She said nothing, a hand to her mouth. She nodded her head or started to, but her eyes clouded with pain, and she stopped. "Alright."

"I'll go get your husband, ma'am." He said gently. He turned to go but she reached out and caught his wrist with her hand.

"I'm so sorry, Fred. I didn't even ask. Are you alright?"

He laughed out loud, stunned by the ridiculousness of the question - it was so typical of something she would do. He could easily imagine her blown into twenty pieces, but everyone of them trying to check everyone around her. "I'm fine, Madam Secretary. Lie back and rest. They said they are about three minutes out, and if I don't get down there, Dr. McCord is going to tear this building down looking for you. Okay?"

She squeezed his hand before letting go, and stepped out of the room. He paused before heading downstairs, sucking in a big gulp of air. He was most definitely going to have to be asked to be reassigned. Looking at her lying in that hospital reminded him way too much of his little sister Evelyn. He had completely lost all sense of professional distance.

***MS***

Despite their best efforts otherwise, the main floor of the hospital was chaos. The press had completely surrounded the place, as had both supporters and protesters. He fought his way through the crowd to the car that held Dr. Henry McCord. He opened the door without realizing the sight his own injuries would have on her husband.

"My God, Fred! Are you alright?" He asked with wide eyes.

"I'm fine. We've got her up on the fourth floor." He told him as they stepped inside and away from the noise of the crowd. He indicated the people outside. "They think she's in a suite on the second floor."

"Is she? They said she was . . ."

He put a steady hand under Dr. McCord's arm. "She has a serious concussion, bruises and cuts on her arm and face - like mine." He indicated the cuts on his own face. "Her wrist is broken. They thought she might have broken a rib and there was some concern about a cut near her eye - that maybe she'd broken a cheekbone, but it is just badly bruised. I'm sorry but she has a lot of bruising, Dr. McCord, but she only lost consciousness for a few minutes." They reached a bank of guarded elevators, and Fred nodded at the agent before pushing the up button. The doors opened immediately and they stepped inside.

"She saw it happening and that probably saved her life. She was turning to run when I grabbed her." He admitted. "I'm sure she was a very good agent."

"She was." Her husband admitted. "She's conscious?"

"Yes, and giving her doctors hell, I'm afraid. You spoke with the children?" He asked.

"Yes. I was on the phone with them when you checked in."

"I'm very sorry about how long that took, Dr. McCord. I am really sorry. I didn't want to stop until she was here. I know that must have been unbelievably difficult for you, but I was worried. She hit her head very hard."

Dr. McCord nodded his head, saying nothing, blinking back tears. The doors opened and they stepped out into a hallway that was full of agents.

"She's back this way." Agent Cole said, indicating the direction with his good arm. "I just," He paused and Henry glanced his way, surprised by the unsure tone of Fred's voice.

"What?" He asked.

"I want to apologize." Fred paused in his steps and faced Dr. McCord.

"Apologize . . .?"

"I forget how small she is. She doesn't _seem _small. And when I pushed her . . . I miscalculated. I threw her really hard - and so she landed on the concrete - not the grassy area. I didn't think about how little she weighs. The head, the wrist - that's _my _fault."

Henry McCord bent over, his face away from Agent Cole, and Fred stepped back afraid that the man would attack him in a burst of furious rage, but when he straightened, he saw that the man was laughing.

"Fred! You are apologizing?" He wiped tears of laughter out of his eyes. "God, I know I'm completely hopped up on stress and near hysteria, but that's about the damned most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." He reached out and put a tight hand on Fred's good arm. "She seems like a giant. I know just what you mean, but that woman weighs 80 lbs after a big meal! You don't have to explain it to _me_. And if you hadn't tossed her away from those bombs . . . Fred, you wouldn't be walking me to her room! You'd be taking me to the morgue where her body was laid out." Tears filled his eyes again on this last sentence. "I can _never_ thank you enough for what you did, Fred. Never."

Agent Fred Cole, met Dr. McCord's eyes for a long minute, before the agent, cleared his throat and said, "Just another day at the office, Dr. McCord." He held out his hand and the men shook hands before resuming their walk down the hallway. "She's just up there. The room on the end. If you need anything, we set up command near the nurses station. She knows about Matt because she's impossible when she wants information, and she's still in shock - hasn't processed any of it yet."

"Of course not." Henry McCord sighed. "Thank you, Agent Cole."

"Yes, sir." Fred said, moving to step away. "And for the record, sir. I would _never_ be walking you to the morgue. If she were there, I'd be laid out beside her." He turned without another word and walked down the hallway.

***MS***

It was less than a hundred steps to her room, but it felt like miles. He'd been shocked to see Fred so injured and couldn't imagine what she'd look like. He'd never known the tall agent to be so rattled. _Three bombs. Three. And Elizabeth at the center of it. His Elizabeth. _He understood that all things considered they'd been damned lucky - although a concussion was nothing to joke about. He stepped into the doorway of the room.

She lay on the hospital bed, her eyes closed. Her face, which was bruised and covered in scratches was turned toward the doorway, no doubt avoiding the light that streamed in throughout the window. His chest felt tight, and breathing became difficult as his vision clouded by tears. He drew in a deep gasp of air trying desperately to fill his lungs.

"Lizzie!" He whispered, and she opened her eyes. He staggered back, relief washing over him like a tidal wave. And the only thing he could manage was, "Your eyes are so beautiful." Even as he said it he thought to himself, _What a stupid thing to say_. He recognized he passed hysterical hours ago. He crossed the room, coming to stand behind her bed. "Babe." He meant to tell her that he loved her, but he found himself unable to say anything more.

"Henry!" And she immediately launched into typical hyper-Lizzie speak - words too fast to truly be intelligible - a pace that only people who knew her well could manage.

"I'm so sorry. We had no phone! I'm okay. I tried to call but my phone was shattered when . . . There was no way to talk to you! The kids are alright? Did you talk to them? They won't let me have a phone! Fred said that they knew I was alright! But Matt is hurt! There were two little girls - they were so small and looked like Stevie and Allison that time we took them to the park with the giant slide, and Allison was too scared to go up it and Stevie didn't tease her at all which was a total surprise because she was always teasing her and they rode down it together. Remember that?"

"Elizabeth." He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Stop talking. Stop, honey. Babe, please, just lie back."

"I'm sorry, Henry. I'm sorry." She had tears in her eyes now, but not one rolled down her face. She had this strange magically ability to almost but never quite cry. She was an amazement to him - a strength he'd never understood - no matter how many books of philosophy he read.

"Lizzie, stop. It's okay. I'm here. You are alright." He spoke slowly, soothingly. She stopped her eyes finally settling on his.

"There was a bomb." She said very softly.

"I know."

"Actually, there were three."

"Yes." He agreed. "But you are okay." Her eyes grew giant at this, and a lone tear made a track down her bruised face. "Shh." He whispered, his fingers brushing at her tears.

"Fred is hurt and Matt . . ."

"Matt's in surgery. We will know soon enough." He understood that it was only now that she was truly beginning to understand all that had happened.

"Okay." She said, swallowing down her tears. "Okay."

He held her hand tightly in his, his other hand on the side of her face. The whole right side of her body was a mess of bruises and scratches, so he sat to her left, her left hand in his his; his fingers dancing lightly over the left side of her face. "Shh." He repeated. "Everything is going to be okay. You are alright."

"My God!" The doctor said stepping into the room. "You are either her husband or some kind of shaman! This is the first time she's been still! Either way, you clearly work miracles!"

"Just the husband." Henry said, rising and shaking the doctor's hand.

"I'm sure you have many questions. She has severe bruising on most of her right side. No broken ribs, although they might just as well be - for the pain they'll cause her. She has temporary hearing loss - particularly in her right ear, but that is temporary from the blast. We contemplated stitches for that cut near her eye, but I think it will heal just as well with glue. Her wrist is broken, although she hasn't let me x-ray it just yet. Our greatest concern is her head injury. Her concussion is severe. We will keep her monitored. If she becomes confused or slurs her words, or behaves in a way that concerns you, immediately contact the nurse. You might notice it before anyone else because you know her well. The next 48 hours are crucial. The hit she took," He paused, shaking his head. "You hit your head very hard." He said to her, seeing that she was ready to protest.

"I don't see the need to cause him _more_ stress." She said to the doctor.

"You might have a point there, ma'am." He turned back to Henry. "She's not an easy woman."

"No." Henry agreed. "But I'm not an easy person myself." He winked at Elizabeth.

"You are well-matched, then." The doctor said. "Now, may I please x-ray that wrist, Madam Secretary?" The doctor asked with raised eyebrows.

"Yes." She responded meekly.

"Ah, good! And then I shall answer your husbands 10,000 questions. I'll get an orderly to wheel you to x-ray - unless you are planning on explaining once again that you are perfectly capable of walking?"

"No." She said with an embarrassed grin.

"Progress!" The doctor said. He left the room but returned almost immediately "And just to ease your anxiety. They are just finishing up in surgery. They were able to save the young man's leg." He smiled at them, and then left with a nod of his head.

"Thank God." Henry said squeezing her fingers again. "He'll be okay, Elizabeth."

"Lizzie." She corrected him. "I've had enough of Elizabeth, Dr. McCord."

He smiled at her, and leaning close, kissed her forehead. "I love you, Lizzie. I can't even manage words for how much."


	4. Chapter 4

Henry McCord, rose slowly, stretching his aching muscles. Moving quietly he left the room, blinking at the bright light of the hallway. He paused rubbing a hand over his face. He was exhausted but his nerves were still too raw. He felt edgy and brittle, like he'd just returned from a mission.

Elizabeth was, thankfully, asleep. He was relieved that she'd been able to close her eyes and drift off, but knew it had more to do with the medications she'd been given than a her sense of peace. Even on her best day, she was a terrible sleeper - her mind never quit. He supposed some of his stress was in anticipation of the dawn, and what it would bring. He knew she would start asking questions as soon as she opened those beautiful, intelligent eyes of hers and he didn't look forward to answering any of them. The weight of those answers would lay heavy on her slim shoulders. And he knew, from experience, that when the adrenaline and shock wore off, she would have a lot to sort through.

He decided on another cup of coffee and went to the end of the hall were a small knot of agents were gathered.

"How about instead of another cup, you lie down for a few hours?" Fred asked him.

"I will, if you will." He responded.

"You aren't the agent in charge." Fred snapped back. "Honestly, Dr. McCord, I don't even know how you are on your feet."

"Military training." He answered, taking a sip of coffee as he did. "What else do we know, now?"

"It wasn't ISIS." Fred told him. "It's a lot more complicated and a lot simpler than that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Your wife got caught on the wrong end of a blood feud. The attack had nothing to do with her or the United States Government."

"Fred, if I were paranoid, I would think that's exactly what you would tell me if you wanted to cover something bigger up."

"I suppose you are right." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Of course, every now and then it's true. Come on, I'll fill you in so you can be prepared when she finally is clear-headed enough to ask, but I got to warn you Dr. McCord, she isn't going take this lightly."

"I think you can drop the Dr. McCord, Fred." Henry said following the agent to a bank of chairs and sitting down across from him. "And I've got to be honest with you, she hasn't taken a single thing lightly since the day she was born."

***MS***

Hours later, a cold cup of coffee in his hand, Henry realized that what Fred had said was true. The kind of lies that were believable, were the ones that actually happened from time to time. Although, he realized that there was no way that they'd ever convince Jason the whole thing wasn't a massive governmental cover-up. He couldn't imagine how the DNA of an NSA agent and a CIA analyst could produce such a suspicious natured offspring.

The door to the room opened and he looked up expecting to see a nurse but was surprised to see Nadine.

"I'm sorry." She whispered. "I didn't knock but they said they thought you were sleeping."

"That's alright."

"I couldn't get to sleep myself." She continued nervously. "Every time I close my eyes . . .well anyway, I thought I'd look and see for myself."

"I'm not much for sleeping either. You are alright, though?"

"We were inside the building. Nothing happened to us." She bit at her lip nervously.

"I wouldn't say that." He offered compassionately.

"Well, she and Matt took the worst of it."

"It's traumatic all the same. How is Matt?"

"He's still sedated. It's going to be a long and painful road."

"Daisy is with him?"

"Yes." She paused thoughtfully, and then reached into her shoulder bag. "I tried to straighten your hotel room. The agents left it . . . suddenly and I found these. I thought you might want them." She held three leather bound books. "I couldn't decide which you'd want more, so I brought them all."

His eyes widened with surprise, and he accepted the books, rising to embrace her in a brief hug.

"That was very thoughtful, Nadine. Thank you." He stepped back from her aware that his embrace had surprised her.

"How is she doing?" Nadine asked.

"She isn't too happy with the idea of rest, right now." He offered with a shrug of his shoulders.

"I imagine not." Nadine said with a laugh. "She doesn't strike me as the sit on the couch and do nothing type."

"No." He admitted. "I've got a theory that she's still planning things in her sleep." He nodded at her. "Sometimes she seems to wake up with a new idea fully formed."

"She's not an easy person." Nadine said as if thinking out loud. "But I admire her very much. It seems the longer I know her, the more I respect her." She blushed aware of what she said. "I'm sorry, that came out . . ."

"It's alright." He said with a laugh. "I understand what you mean." He glanced at his wife. "It's not like I'm not aware she's got strong opinions."

"Yes, sir. She's going to need them if she's going to survive Washington."

"I used to worry that Washington would be the biggest threat to her." He sighed, rubbing his face with his hand. "She'd never admit it to you, but she's full of hope."

"I'd noticed that. Washington could use some of that." Nadine paused and looking at him added. "You are tired and I should go."

"Thank you for the books and for stopping by." He nodded at her. She smiled and reached out to open the door but paused to look back as he spoke again.

"Turn the tv on - not a news channel. Some cooking or craft show. It will make it easier to sleep." He suggested.

"I guess. . ." She began.

"Lots of people think music or a kids show will work, but kids shows have a surprising amount of violence and music can trigger memories. A cooking show is your best bet or there used to be this lady on that taught quilting. . ." He saw her confusion. "I am a combat vet." He explained.

"I had forgotten about that. Of course. Thank you."

"Good night, Nadine."

"Good night."

He glanced at the clock. It was 3:26 am. He hoped Elizabeth would stay asleep. He pulled his chair closer to her bed, and opened the top book, setting the other two on her bed side table.

_"The sun shall not harm you by day, nor the moon by night." _He read, trying to find solace in the oldest of texts.

***MS***

"I don't see why they won't just let you wheel me down there." Elizabeth McCord said testily. "I should at least be able to check in on him."

"I'm sure if you continue to throw a big fit, they'll ignore your personal medical safety and let you skip on over to his room." Henry responded, his arms folded over his chest.

"I'm not throwing a fit." She snapped back.

"You kind of are, and from that expression on your face I can tell it isn't helping your headache any. I'll go check on him for you later, alright?"

"Alright." She said with a sigh. He nodded his head at her but wasn't surprised when she added softly, "But maybe later they'll let me go."

There was a knock and he turned from her to open it. Agent Fred Cole stepped into the room.

"Fred! Thank goodness! Maybe you can give me some actual information. All anyone has said to me since I woke up is 'rest' and 'take it easy'" She paused, considering him thoughtfully. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Madam Secretary." He glanced at Henry. "I know you have questions."

"Seven deaths?" She asked, all lightness gone from her tone.

"Yes, ma'am - including the bombers. Both ambassadors, two agents and the bombers."

"That's six." She glanced over at Henry.

"No that's seven, ma'am there were three bombers."

Her eyes grew wide in shock. "The little girl? No! She couldn't have been more than ten!"

"She was fourteen ma'am."

"Fourteen!" She lifted her hand rubbing her forehead. "I don't understand."

"The attack was aim at Ambassador Yamaldi - not the United States, and not you." He paused before continuing, letting her absorb this piece of information, "Ambassador Yamaldi's wife had worked tirelessly to bring women's rights and freedoms to Yemen. It was her life's work."

"But his wife wasn't at the summit." She said slowly, glancing from Fred to Henry's face. "This is punishment?" Her voice rose in pitch. "They killed her husband because she wanted little girls to read?!"

"Honey, sit back." Henry said rising and going to her. "You need to stay calm."

"Calm? What the hell, Henry? Are you listening to this?"

"Madam Secretary, it wasn't a political attack. The change she brought to Yemen resulted in his oldest son's wife divorcing him. He felt his family had been shamed. It was a personal attack."

"It was a threat delivered on the world's stage! And how old was his daughter-in-law anyway?"

Fred sighed. "You know, it would be a lot easier for you if you didn't think so much."

Henry gave a snort of agreement, and said softly, "Tell me about it!"

"I knew it! So some poor little child bride escapes from the horror of her life, and her father in law has to avenge his son's honor?"

"She was thirteen."

"Was?"

"Listen, babe," Henry interrupted, stepping closer to her bed, a hand on her shoulder. "I think that's enough talking. You are supposed to get cognitive rest, remember? And this is just going to upset you and . . ."

"He killed her?"

"Right before he came here." Fred answered.

"I want to talk to my staff." She said, her voice tight with anger. "We need to make a statement of support for the ambassador's widow."

"No." Henry said stepping closer to her.

"No?" She turned toward her husband, her eyes wide in shock. "Henry, I'm not some housewife you can . . ."

"If that's all?" Fred asked, his hand already on the door.

"Yes, thank you. Please try and get some rest." Henry said ignoring Elizabeth, and walking Fred to the door. He turned back to his wife as the door clicked shut. She had thrown back the covers and was leaning forward as if to rise.

"No. No. No." He crossed the room in two long strides. He put the covers back over her and put his hands on her shoulders. "Get back in bed."

"Henry, you are starting to really piss me off. I'm the Secretary of State and you're treating me like some helpless princess from a Disney movie!"

He said nothing for a long minute, the room silent except for the huffing sound of his breathing. He tried to calm himself so that he wouldn't blow up at her. He drew in two long slow breaths before reacting. Despite his efforts to remain calm, he found his control was slipping.

"Well, maybe I'm overreacting - I mean it was less than twenty-four hours ago that you were nearly blown to ten million pieces! I saw the whole damn thing on tv and so did your daughter, so I'm not really all that concerned about the rights of women in Yemen just now, okay?" He responded, bitterly.

"I appreciate that, but this isn't some consulting job! I've got an obligation. . ."

"To me!" He interrupted, his eyes suddenly bright with tears. "You've got an obligation to me, Elizabeth!" He recognized that he was somewhat hysterical from stress and lack of sleep but he found her stubbornness unbelievably frustrating at times. "You and I made promises, Lizzie. We promised not to pursue unnecessary risks, remember?"

"I'm not . . ." She said her tone softening, surprised that he was so angry. "Henry . . . "

"Not what? Not endangering yourself? Did you listen to the doctor? He said the hit you took to the head was more powerful than any hit by an NFL lineman! You have to rest! You have to!" He turned away from her, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Doctors always talk about worse case scenarios . . ." She began but he cut her off.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" He exploded at her. "Do you want to leave me? Are you determined to leave me a widow with those three children? Is that it? Stop it! Just stop! Be reasonable for Christ's sake! You heard Dr. Chen. You were sitting right there." He waved a hand at her hospital bed. "You heard him! They are monitoring you to make sure that you don't suddenly have a seizure and die! Jesus, Liz! I spent nearly an hour waiting to hear if you were dead or not - listening to your children sobbing and you can't even stop for one day and rest! Don't talk to me about worse case scenarios! This is it! This is my worse case scenario - some jackass trying to . . . and me too far away to do you any good."

"Okay, okay. Henry, I'm sorry. Honey, calm down." She reached out to him. He had stopped, his face covered by his hands. "Henry, come on. I'm sorry."

"No," He said, his voice calmer, but shaky with the sound of tears buried inside it. He dropped his hands. "I'm sorry. I should've been there. I can't believe I was so selfish! Two hours! I couldn't manage a stupid reception. Babe, I'm so, so sorry. I should have been there. Maybe I would've . . . "

"Henry, stop. Come here." She said reaching a hand out to him. He stepped closer to her bed, his face down, and she took hold of his hand. "C'mon, I didn't mean to upset you. I understand that I'm injured, I do. I will rest. I promise it. I'll stop. I know my concussion is a big deal, okay." She leaned forward trying to see his face. "Henry, c 'mon, look at me. I know you are frustrated but let's think logically, okay?"

"I can't . . ." He began, shaking his head. "I should have been there."

"Stop thinking like that. It wouldn't have changed anything."

"You don't know that." He looked up at her.

"Okay, then. Let's consider it."

"Liz, just . . ."

"C'mon Professor McCord. The Socratic Approach, right?"

"This isn't class."

"If you had gone where would you have been standing?" She asked him.

"Liz, I don't . . ."

"No, I've thought about this. I thought about it a lot. You generally are to my left and behind, right? That would've probably put you beside Annie. It's where you stood at the receptions in Germany and Washington."

"I don't know, I guess so."

"So you would have been at an angle to really see everything. Think about that. I can't remember it now, but Fred told me that _I_ saw him coming toward us - which means you would've too. You would have seen him rush at me with that bomb. What would you have done?"

"I don't . . ." He offered weakly.

"Yes, you do. If you saw him coming at me, what would you have done?"

"You are speaking in hypotheticals! We don't know for sure what . . ." He offered lamely.

"The hell I don't! Henry, this stupid concussion might have me a bit muddled and forgetful, but one thing I know for sure is that come hell or high water, you would do anything to keep me safe - including rushing a crazed man with a bomb. So," She continued her voice breaking. "Don't apologize to me for not being there." She swallowed hard, her hand squeezing his forearm. "I've never been so grateful for anything in my whole life."

"Maybe . . ." He offered lamely, recognizing she was right, but not quite able to allow himself free of the guilt that had gripped him. "I don't . . .I'm so sorry, Babe. I just can't believe that . . ."

"_I'm okay, Henry._ I'm going to be fine. I'm gonna sit in this bed and rest. And then we will go home together and raise those three children together." She hit the word together hard, each time, understanding that he needed the reassurance just as much as she did.

"Move over." He said, already climbing into the narrow hospital bed beside her. She scooted to the edge, and then snuggled up against him. He wrapped his arms around her, and she rested her bruised and aching head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart beats lulling her back down into sleep. He rested his lips against her forehead, gently, carefully of any bruises. "I love you, Lizzie. I love you. I am so . . ." A sob stopped him, and he squeezed her tighter to him. "I can't ever . . . you are my everything. You are my heart." He said nothing more; could say nothing more. She fell asleep to the soft sound of his tears, and the steady beat of his heart.

When the nurse came into her room, forty-five minutes later, to once again check her cognitive responses, she found them both asleep, Henry McCords, arms still around his wife, protective even in sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Opening her eyes to the slanting rays of afternoon sun, the strongest feeling Elizabeth McCord felt was pain. It was clear they had tapered back on her meds because for the first time she could truly feel the ache of her arm, and her shoulder. Her knee hurt too. Truth be told her whole body ached. She had become accustomed to the dull throbbing ache of her head. She glanced at the giant clock on the wall across from her bed only to realize that she had now been in the hospital nearly twenty-four hours.

One full day.

It was bizarre to think of how much things had changed in such a short amount of time. Yesterday, she was running around making fifteen decisions a minute, and trying to make sure they squeezed every important meeting they could into this short visit. And now - she was trying to contemplate how she was going to walk from the bed to the bathroom without becoming overcome with nausea.

Jason had a concussion once - when he was four. He'd been jumping from rock to rock near a friend's pool when he'd lost his balance - landing head first on the rocks. She had always considered herself to be calm in a crisis but watching the bump immediately grow huge on his forehead, she had to force herself to take a deep breath and keep moving. But it was actually much worse later when she had lain awake next to him all night terrified that he would stop breathing at any second.

She hadn't understood how painful a concussion could be. She couldn't imagine how he had managed the pain, and felt guilty all over again about letting him climb on those rocks. She pulled herself up to a sitting position trying to ignore the immediate wave of dizziness it set off. Moving very slowly she scanned the room. She was surprised to find herself alone. Henry hadn't left her side since he'd rushed into her room the day before. She hoped that he had gone to get some sleep or to eat something.

She considered swinging her legs over the side of the bed to at least sit all the way up. Being stuck in the bed was a nuisance. She felt completely isolated - hadn't seen her staff since the previous day - couldn't check on Matt.

"It figures you'd try and make a break for it."

She hadn't noticed Blake standing in the doorway to the room. He was dressed, as always, completely impeccably. Leaving to Blake to remain stylish in crisis. Her eyes blurred with tears happy to see him safe. She had been told her staff was all fine - with the obvious exception of Matt - but they hadn't allowed any of her staff to visit her.

"Well, there are things to be done." She offered, trying to hide the sound of tears, from her voice.

"And people to do them." He stepped closer, offering her a small bouquet of roses. "I stole these from a small child down the hall."

"I appreciate it." She said as he set them on her night stand.

"Well, I thought I should warn you in the event they attempted to arrest you before you left the hospital. It seemed only right you should be informed." He leaned over giving her cheek a brief kiss. "I must confess I'm quite relieved you weren't blown to smithereens."

"Me too." She said with a light laugh, grateful that despite the dire events of the last day, at least Blake was still Blake.

"It's murder trying to find a new job!"

"Be sure to add 'tact' and 'compassion' to your resume."

"No need to update it now." He sat in the chair beside the bed. "So, how are you feeling?"

"A lot like a series of bombs went off next to me." She considered him thoughtfully. "Did Henry send you over to babysit me?"

"Well, I wanted to come and check on you but none of us can get past your armed fortress. So when he came down to check on Matt, I offered to keep you company."

"How is Matt?"

"About as well as you can be when a series of bombs go off right next to you." He paused. "He's doing alright. There is talk that they will be able to fly him home at the end of the week. And what about you, Madam Secretary? When will that let you fly?"

"I don't know. They haven't said. I was hoping they'd release me soon."

"Well according to the papers you are recovering nicely and should be released some time tomorrow."

"Really?" She brightened at this. "Well, thank God!"

"Yes." He agreed heartily, and she was surprised to see tears in his eyes.

"I don't suppose you smuggled any paperwork up here did you?" She asked, not wanting to embarrass him over his show of emotion.

"No. I did not." He cleared his throat."Your husband is a retired military and I have no desire to be killed. He made it quite clear what would happen to me if I helped you do any work."

"He's being ridiculous."

"I disagree." He rose suddenly. "Well, as we are banned from working, why don't I see if I can steal you some food. You look hungry." He turned to go and as he did a piece of paper fell from his pocket, landing on her bed. "Oh my," He said in a voice of mock concern. "I seemed to have dropped a draft of a press release. Why don't you hold onto it, until I come back." He winked at her.

"You are a brave man, Blake."

"I don't know what you are talking about."

***MS***

"But when are you coming home?" Jason demanded.

"When the doctor says it is alright." Henry McCord answered sternly. He and Elizabeth sat side-by-side on her hospital bed, the computer open in front of them as they Skyped with their children.

"Don't be a jerk, Jason! You think she should just hop in plane? She has a concussion!" Allison hissed at him.

"Hey," Elizabeth said. "Take it easy. We are all upset, but we just have to be patient."

"We are fine." Stevie offered. "We just miss you guys."

"It shouldn't be too long." Her father said. "Your mom's doing fine. They are just being careful."

"Did it hurt?" Jason asked.

"Oh God!" Allison moaned. "Stop acting like you're six!"

"I just asked a question! I don't know what . . ."

"Stop picking on him!" Stevie told her younger sister.

"He's the one asking stupid questions! Like mom wants to even . . ."

"Hey guys! Guys!" Henry interrupted them. "Enough! C'mon."

"Hey, Noodle," Elizabeth said leaning closer to the screen. "I really am okay, and I'll be home soon. I know that it was really scary and I'm sorry, but everything is going to be okay."

"Until your next speech." Allison said softly.

"Allison!" Stevie exclaimed. "Not now!"

"Leave me alone!" Allison said before disappearing from the screen.

"Noodle! Allison, come back." Elizabeth pleaded.

"Noodle!" Henry called.

"She went upstairs." Jason said, his voice flat.

"It's gonna be okay." Henry told him. "We'll be home soon."

"We are okay. She's just really tired. None of us slept much." Stevie offered. "Really, Mom, she's okay."

"Thanks, Stevie." Elizabeth said softly.

"I'll call you guys later." Henry told them. "Your Mom should probably rest now."

"I love you guys - tell Allison, too." Elizabeth said.

"Love you too, Mom." And then the screen went blank. Henry reached out and closed the laptop. He sat back, an arm around his wife.

"She's just upset and Stevie's right - she's tired."

"She saw it on tv."

"I know." He sighed.

"So did you."

"Let's think of something else to talk about, okay, Babe? This isn't going to do us any good. We are just going to get more and more upset. We can't go home, yet."

"You can." She said quietly.

"No."

She shifted from under his arm, and turned to face him. "You could, Henry. I'm not in any danger now." He raised an eyebrow at this. "And you could at least be with them."

"You should be released to fly by the end of the week. I'm not leaving here without you." His voice was firm.

"You just hate flying commercial." She muttered, frustrated, but desperate to avoid another angry outburst from him.

"Yeah, that's my whole problem with your plan." He shook his head at her. "And you hate dealing with messy feelings." He paused at her. "I know you feel guilty about them. I do too, but guilt is only to remind us of when we've done wrong. And you didn't do anything wrong, Liz. It's just false guilt."

"You know that both Stevie and Jason have watched it by now." She looked up at him. "There's no way they haven't."

"I know." He turned quiet again. "But you didn't bring in those bombs - you didn't even change the social code in Yemen! What happened really had nothing to do with you at all. You know that."

"It doesn't make me feel any better about it." She looked up at him. "I mean, if I had . . .well, you wouldn't feel any better knowing I was an innocent victim."

He shook his head at this, his eyes bright with tears, and pulled her in tight against his chest. "No, don't even . . ." He cleared his throat and spoke softly into her hair. "This is just something we are going to have to navigate our way through. It has an impact. It will change things - it already has. We didn't want it - didn't cause but we are left with the repercussions."

"And so are our children." She added.

"And so are our children." He agreed. "None of it is fair, or deserved, but it is there, and we have to face it. And it's hard right now, but this is just for now, Liz. Things will change and shift again."

She sighed heavily. The one thing she really appreciated about Henry was his ability to pick a problem apart - actually she appreciated a million things about Henry, but this was one thing she counted on - especially when life got difficult or complicated. He was right of course. They couldn't wheel back time and undo the damage cause by the three bombs. They could only head forward, picking up the pieces as best they could. She longed more than anything to be home. She longed to be in the big bed upstairs with her children around her, so that she could see their faces - look into their eyes and really know that they were alright. Or maybe she wanted to be further down the road past even that - to the place where she was back at work, no cast on her wrist, not even thinking about this trip anymore. It was hard to think of that as even being possible, but she knew it to be true - knew it from experience.

"Remember Khafji?" She asked quietly, her head still resting against his chest.

"Of course."

"That was the longest four days I've ever lived through." She said.

"I know."

He had been missing for five days after the battle, and thanks to modern technology. She had known he was missing for nearly all of them. She hadn't slept, hadn't ate - just paced the floors over and over and over again - trying to will the phone to ring.

"After, it felt like it would be forever before I could hear the phone ring and not spin right into a panic attack. I couldn't watch the news, but I couldn't not watch the news either. God, I'm glad that is over." She confessed.

"But things did shift back to normal again. I mean you don't feel that way every day now?" He sat back from her to look her in the eyes.

"That's what I was thinking - what I was wishing. That we were already on the other side, and," She considered thoughtfully. "This is different because of the kids, too."

"That's true." He agreed.

"And it didn't really go back to normal." She told him. "I still dream about it every now and then, and it changed me - changed us."

"Mostly for the better." He told her.

"But it wasn't easy."

"Easy doesn't build character." He said with a grin - knowing how often she told their children that.

"Throwing my words back at me, Dr. McCord. I thought you tried to rise above rhetoric."

"You should give me a break. I've been up for nearly two days trying to get my heart rate to settle back down." He pulled her back into his arms, comforted by the familiar weight of her head on his chest. "We'll get to the other side, Liz. We'll find our way."

"Tomorrow?" She asked comforted by the steady rhythm of his heart.

"You are always so impatient!" He laughed. "Gotta fix every problem them same day you discover it!"

"I'm a busy woman." She countered. "And I have a lot to get done."

"Not today. Today you are a woman who needs to rest."

"Yes, sir, Captain McCord." She teased him, laughing lightly, amazed and grateful that somehow he had led them back to laughter.


	6. Chapter 6

She expected to be content to be released from the hospital. Of course, she also expected to be allowed to fly home the same day. It was disappointing to have to spend a few more days away from her family; away from home. That Matt was cleared to fly before her both relieved her - to know he was going home to his family and familiar surroundings, and filled her with jealousy. She wanted nothing more than to return from this terrible trip - to put it all behind her.

She glanced around the large hotel suite, and climbed out of bed, reaching for her glasses as she did. She had just settled on to the couch when Henry stepped back into the room.

"Uh, uh, uh!" He said shaking a finger at her. "We had a deal."

"It isn't polite to point." She said looking up at him. "And you said two hours in bed." She pointed to the clock.

"It isn't polite to point." He said laughing.

"Sore loser." She turned back to the papers in her hand. "It doesn't matter anyway. There's no way I can read through all of this."

She rubbed her eyes, careful of the bruises and scratches on her face. Now that she had started to truly recover she was much more aware of how much the concussion had slowed her. Reading was difficult, and remembering things a challenge. She had no memory of the actual blast at all - remembered nothing except opening her eyes in the hospital. She hated with every fiber of her being the way it had impacted her ability to think clearly and do her job.

"Here, babe," He said sitting down beside her. "Give me one. I'll read it and summarize."

"You hate these kind of reports," She said, but handed him some papers.

"Yeah, but I love you." He kissed her forehead before to turning to the papers in front of him. "You know, some people have their staff do this."

Without looking up she remarked. "Why would I do that? I have to pay them. You'll do this for free."

He shook his head at her. "Don't push it, Mrs. McCord."

She studied the papers in front of her, but it was nearly impossible to read. Frustrated she tossed them aside and rose, quickly; too quickly. She staggered a half-step but recovered, knowing that, despite pretending to read the sheaf of papers in front of him, he was really watching her.

He showed tremendous restraint and remained silent. In an attempt to cover up the fact that she was unable to read and unable to focus, she wandered out onto the balcony. Pushing himself up from the couch he followed her outside.

"You think they made it home?" She asked from where she stood looking out over the city.

"Nadine said she'd call." He answered crossing to where she stood and leaned against the balcony wall, watching her.

She sighed saying nothing. It was late afternoon and the sun was already beginning to sink. He looked out at the city beyond her. It really was beautiful, and he was still thankful that they'd agreed to have the summit in a neutral city. The nearly immediate medical attention that both she, and Matt had received might not have been possible in Yemen - the site they had considered using there, had been miles outside the city. And while a twenty minute drive had seemed an eternity at the time, he knew it probably would have been closer to hours if they had travelled to Yemen. He shuddered inwardly thinking of all the possible outcomes.

"It's too late to call?" She asked him, again.

"Yeah, it's not quite midnight." He told her.

"I just asked you that earlier, didn't I?"

"It doesn't matter."

"I wish we were home." She said softly. "I'm worried about Allison."

"Me, too, but the day after tomorrow, isn't too bad. I know it's hard, but . . ."

"It's just for now." She sighed. "You keep saying that." She turned to smile at him. "That I can remember."

"I'm trying to remember it myself." He confessed.

***MS***

She expected the flight home to be challenging. The doctors had warned that in many cases, the symptoms of a concussion were greatly intensified during flight. She had discovered this was an understatement. She found herself fighting a battle against nausea. She closed her eyes, hoping she could drift to sleep and avoid the waves of sickness, and Henry's watchful eye.

_She found herself in a bright green field. The sun was bright. A peacefulness settled over her. She glanced around to discover she was alone. In the distance, voices called to her, and she could see them, waving to her with joy - a look of utter trust across their bright faces. Stevie, Allison, Jason and just a step ahead of them, Henry, a grin on his face. She moved forward at a near run to meet them. The first bomb was located between the girls, launching them through the air, screaming. Jason stepped on the second bomb - one second he was there and the next, he was obliterated. Henry turned from the destruction a look of shock and terror. He lifted his arm, and pointed at her; a clear accusation and then third explosion hit - as pieces of him flew in every direction._

"Wake up! Elizabeth!"

She could just make out his voice. It was being drowned out by screams; someone was screaming.

"Babe! Wake up!"

His voice was higher now. He sounded slightly panicked. If only the screaming would stop. It took her another full minute to realize that the screams were her own; that she was screaming. Her eyes fluttered open and she was horrified to find herself surrounded - Blake, four members of the airline staff, Fred along with four agents, and even the co-pilot were watching her with frightened worried faces.

"It was a dream." Henry's voice was gentle. "It's alright." He glanced around behind him. "It's okay."

The crowd left, leaving behind only Henry, who keep rubbing her shoulder and arm, trying to ground her in reality and away from the nightmare. She could see the form of someone standing just behind him and knew it was probably Dr. Chen, who had insisted on accompanying her on her trip home.

Tears stung her eyes as waves of shame washed over her. Her heart still hammered in her chest and she found it hard to breath, and nearly impossible to talk. A hand reached forward, gently grabbing Henry's shoulder, pulling him out of the way.

"It's a panic attack. Madam Secretary, you are alright." Dr. Chen said softly. She tried to calm her own racing heart, but felt control slipping away. The doctor spoke soothingly to her, as he reached down into a bag and prepared to give her a shot.

"Wh . . wh . . what's that?" She struggled to find her voice again.

"It won't make you sleep, just help bring your heart rate down."

She wanted to protest but the pinch of the needle told her it was too late. She turned her head trying to see around Dr. Chen.

"He's still here." He smiled at her. "Just give yourself a few minutes. How about a glass of water?" Dr. Chen asked. He smiled warmly at her, squeezing her shoulder and disappeared from view.

"Honey?" Henry asked, sitting down beside her on the wide airplane seat. "Why don't you go lie down?"

The plane was equipped with a bedroom, of course, which is where they had all wanted to her to spend her flight, but stubborn as ever she had refused. Now, she deeply regretted her choice, knowing that although flying in bed would signal she was still injured, at least it would have given her privacy.

"That was humiliating." She confessed, her heart rate finally beginning to slow. Whatever the doctor had given her had clearly had a nearly immediate effect.

"It was just a dream." He reassured her.

"How long was I . . ." She began but he immediately cut her off, squeezing her shoulder gently.

"Don't worry about it, Babe." He leaned forward to kiss her forehead. "It's no big deal."

_Right!_ She thought bitterly. _Nothing says capable of command, like a scared girl crying from a nightmare. She could only imagine what everyone was thinking about her._

"Elizabeth?" He asked. "Honey?"

"I'm tired." She said turning away from him and looking out at the sky beyond the plane. "I wish we were home already." She said nothing more, too angry at herself for being too weak to manage the bombing, and too shaken by the memory of her nightmare for any more words.

***MS***

She expected to be able to truly relax once she was home. She had imagined collapsing into the soft familiarity of her own bed, and shaking off the events of the bombing. She somehow imagined returning to life as she knew it.

The faces of her children brought a flood of emotion, and she fought hard not to weep at just the sight of them. Opting for a private reunion, the children had not met them at the airport, but rather waited at home. Stevie immediately launched herself into her arms, nearly knocking the wind out of her.

"Take it easy." Henry said, and she was surprised at the harshness of his tone.

Jason joined the hug, but Allison hung back, looking unsure. She swallowed hard, brushing tears out of her eyes, "Noodle! Come here."

Allison hesitated but then wrapped her arms around her mother. She shook with heaving sobs that nearly knocked Elizabeth backwards onto the ground. She felt Henry's strong arms reach around and lift Allison, up into his arms, carrying her over to the couch.

"Easy, honey. Everything is okay. Let mama, sit down." He said to Allison huskily, kissing her forehead.

She followed them to the couch, sitting beside Henry, who still held Allison on his lap and Jason, who clung to her other side. Stevie sat down on the coffee table across from the couch, violating house rules, one hand holding tightly to Elizabeth's.

It was overwhelming, and good, but almost too much. She felt the weight of their anguish, as well as their relief, and so there was a tremendous amount of guilt mixed in with all the joy. She could still see, in her mind's eye, Henry's long arm stretched out pointing at her in accusation.

***MS***

She had expected, without the constant noise and hospital procedures, she would finally be able to sleep, but hours later, after the children had finally gone to bed, she lay awake staring at the familiar ceiling of home, wondering how she was ever going to manage an ordinary day. Her emotions felt raw and she felt brittle - as though she were a delicate piece of glass - stretched so thin that it was on the verge of shattering.

"You could take a sleeping pill." Henry offered. His voice startled her out of her thoughts. She had thought he was fast asleep. "The doctor gave you a prescription."

"No." She said tersely. One word answers had seemed to be all she could manage, since she had awoken screaming from the nightmare.

"There's no shame in it." He told her, his hand reaching for hers.

"I know." She said, thinking he was speaking of the sleeping pill.

"It was just a bad dream, Lizzie. It doesn't mean anything. And the only person from your staff who saw it was Blake, and you know he's loyal to you. He won't talk about it."

"I'm tired." She said, turning her body away from his, surprised by her own reaction.

"You are exhausted." He said sitting up, and clicking on the lamp. "But you've got to talk to me."

"Not, now." She bit her upper lip, attempting to keep the tears that threatened at bay. "Please."

"How much longer do you want me to watch you suffer?"

"Henry," She didn't even try to hide the frustration, her tone communicating volumes.

"I won't sit here pretending you aren't torturing yourself over . . ."

"Please, I'm just tired."

"Remember Khafji?" He asked her.

"Henry . . ."

"It was so damned hard to shake. I kept thinking that if things could just get back to normal, I wouldn't have to think about how close I came to never coming home."

He looked down at her. "And I couldn't sleep at all, remember? I would just lie awake staring at the ceiling trying not to think about it."

"You were so thin." She found herself being pulled into the story, lulled by the comforting familiarity of his voice. She turned toward him, and watched the familiar lines of his face as he continued the story.

"You kept trying to feed me." He grinned at her. "All those milkshakes." He let out a slow sigh. "And then we went to that party of your cousins, remember?"

"Henry, that wasn't . . ."

"It was such a great sunny day, too. And it was Alex's 1st birthday, or was it Peter's? I can't remember anymore - one of the 2nd cousins, right?" She nodded her head silently. "And then he let go of those balloons and they floated right up into the trees."

"Henry, you don't have to . . .it wasn't your fault and no one thought." She sat up, facing him.

"And suddenly it wasn't a sunny day anymore, I was somewhere else entirely ducking for cover to avoid gunfire. Your uncle had to drag me out from under that picnic table." He shook his head. "It was humiliating."

"No one thought any less of you. Everyone there understood." She clung tightly to his hand.

"I still feel a little ashamed thinking of it even, now." He shrugged his shoulders. "It was twenty-five years ago, Liz. It still haunts me." His warm brown eyes shone in the dim light of their bedroom. "Do you think that makes me weak?"

"Henry," She sighed heavily. "You aren't . . . this isn't fair."

"I am a captain in the Air Force, Babe, you don't think I was terrified that I would be unable to lead? I mean a goddamn balloon made me dive under a picnic table at a park! And I was supposed to go back there and lead good men into a fight?"

"But . . .I've been in a firefight before. It isn't like I've never seen a bomb."

"You were blindsided, Liz. That's a whole different experience, and most of the bombings you saw were after the fact, right?"

"Yes."

"Its one thing to see the effects and another to be the one at the center of it. And that was a long time ago. We aren't living that life anymore."

"I . . ." She began, but felt her throat tighten with tears and stopped herself.

"Shutting everything out won't work, babe. You know it. You can talk to me." She heard the desperate worry in his tone, and knew he was right.

"I feel afraid." She whispered. "All the time."

He nodded his head at her, his hand holding tightly to hers.

"It's not like I keep thinking about it. I can't remember it at all. But I just feel so anxious." She looked up into his face with wide blue eyes. "And I don't want to sleep. What if I dream?"

He lay back down, sliding his arms around her, pulling her tightly against his chest. "I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere."

"You gonna go to work with me?" She asked him.

"I can. I'll take a leave of absence."

She laughed at the pathetic ridiculousness of his offer. "That will inspire world confidence in my abilities."

"I don't give a damn about the world. I only care about you. And you can't try and shut me out like you've been doing. It isn't fair to either of us."

"I just feel so . . . don't you have some inspirational story or quote for me just now?" She looked up at him with wide, blue, trusting eyes.

"Looking for a magic elixir?" He asked.

"Yes. Something that will speed up time, make me not so feel afraid all the time, and allow you to stop worrying about me."

"Oh, that story!" He said with a laugh.

"Yes, you can quote me Thomas Aquinas or Descartes, or anyone at all if they can pull that kind of magic off."

He ran a finger along the side of her face, and gave her a gentle kiss, and sitting back from her said very softly, "Sometimes you just need to go ahead and cry."

"Who said that?" She asked him.

"I did."

She smiled at him, thankful down to her very core that he was here and at her side. She still felt completely terrified, and ashamed of her fears, but the stony wall that had separated them - that she had put up - was gone. She folded herself into the comforting safety of his arms knowing that even as grief and tears washed over her, he would be there, as faithful as the rising sun.


	7. Chapter 7

"So you aren't coming?" Allison asked her. The entire family was gathered in the kitchen at various stages of readiness for the day. Elizabeth was sipping a glass of water, standing at the sink. Allison sat at the table, a bowl in front of her. She looked up at her mother with hopeful eyes.

Oh, I wish, I could . . ." She began, trying to hide the anxiety she felt at the thought of being out in the open with a crowd.

"But you are going back to work."

Elizabeth lowered her eyes not wanting to see the accusation in Allison's eyes.

"Just a half day and . . ."

"No, Noodle, you wouldn't want the headache." Henry interrupted. "It would be her first public outing since she got back. It would bring out all the press. It would ruin your game."

"I just thought she would want to watch."

"I'll come though." He offered with a grin. "I'm no former coach like Mom, but I can cheer with the best of them."

"I guess." Allison rose and put her bowl in the sink. She said nothing to her mother, stepping around her.

Elizabeth sighed and glanced at her husband who simply raised an eyebrow at her.

"Have a good day!" She called after her daughter, who had already disappeared down the hall.

"Allison Grace!" Henry called when there was no response. His voice held a cold edge. He had risen from where he sat at the table and stood in the doorway of the kitchen.

"Henry, don't." Elizabeth said.

But Allison had already returned to the kitchen, her face a mask of conflicting emotions.

"Have a good day, Mom." She said softly. She crossed to where Elizabeth stood and wrapped her arms around her, giving her a brief hug. "Bye, Dad." She said as she passed by her father and out into the hall.

"Well, she's clearly ticked that I won't be at her game." Elizabeth said with a sigh. "And I was so close to getting Mother of the Year."

"It has nothing to do with the game, Liz and you know it." He crossed to her.

"Is that supposed to comfort me?" She asked him.

"You gotta give her time. She won't talk until she's ready." He wrapped an arm around her.

"Well, that's not very convenient."

"Tell me about it!" He said with a laugh. He kissed her cheek and giving her shoulder a squeeze, added, "She gets that from you, babe. C'mon, your car will be here any minute."

She followed him out to the front hall. He opened the closet holding her coat out for her. "Now, I know everyone there is gonna make a big fuss. There will probably be a huge bouquet and people will clap - there might even be a cake, but I don't want it to go to your head or anything."

Leave it to Henry to understand that she although she was filled with anxiety about returning to work, she needed to keep things light.

"I'll try." He stood facing her, his hands on the lapel of her coat. Just then Jason thundered down the stairs.

"I'm late!" He said as he dashed right past them and out the door.

"Jason!" Henry called.

He paused with his hand on the door, and then with a sheepish grin doubled back to his mother.

"Bye, Mom. Have a good day." He said, standing on tip toe to kiss her cheek.

"You, too." She said, but he was gone before she finished her sentence.

"You sure you don't want me to tag along? My first class isn't until 10." He asked her.

"Nope." She said, her voice assertive and confident. "I got this."

"You do." He agreed, pulling her close and kissing her. "But remember what the doctor said, home by two!"

"I'll see you at dinner." She drew in a deep breath, and stepped away from him, reaching for her bag as she did. She hesitated at the door, knowing full well that there were at least two press vans parked out front waiting for her to step outside.

"Don't let all that nonsense go to your head either." He called from behind her. "You are just a temp working a job for a couple of years till they find a new guy."

She laughed out loud. This was his most used joke. It has started during the confirmation hearings when Jason had been swept up into how Important his mom was becoming. She was all over the news, and uncomfortable with not only the attention but also with the impact that attention was having on her family. One night at dinner Jason, full of his mother's glorious fame, said, "I bet you could get me tickets to any game, Mom." She had frozen unable to react - feeling as if even considering the job was destroying their carefully crafted lives.

"I doubt it." Henry had said, his voice flat. "She's just a temp, Jas. they needed somebody to take over for awhile. "So they brought in a temp." He winked at her, as their son's face fell.

It was true though. And she took comfort in the fact that she was just an ordinary mom, working at a temporary job for awhile.

"I'll see you later." She said to Henry, knowing that he understood that she meant so much more than that.

***MS***

He opened the door wide and stepped into the hall. It was definitely class time because the halls were empty and silent. He turned left following the sign that said administration, and walked up to the receptionist.

"Good morning." He said trying to sound upbeat and cheery. "I'm Dr. McCord. I received a call about my daughter?"

She looked up at him startled - perhaps she recognized the name - and smiled warmly at him. "Yes! Well, I will tell Mr. Applegate you've arrived. You can just have a seat over there." She indicated an unoccupied chair. A boy sat beside him, his shirt untucked, his long bangs over his eyes.

"America's free country, right?" The boy said to him immediately as he sat down.

He blinked, startled for several seconds and then asked, "In what sense?"

"Huh?" The boy looked up at him through a sheaf of hair.

"Well, I'm free to celebrate any religion I choose, but what if that celebration infringes on your rights? What obligation do I have to your freedoms? Do they supersede yours?"

"What?" The kid's face turned dark. "I don't even know what you are talking about, man. I just don't think I should have to cut my hair. It's America. They can't dictate to me how I look, can they?"

"Ah!" He said with a smile. "But this school, although technically located in the United States of America, is private, and therefore has it's own set of rules and regulations. And when you were enrolled here, you agreed to them."

"I didn't agree to get my hair cut!" He muttered.

"Well, you are a minor, so your parents agreed for you." The boy's eyes grew wide. "They essentially declared your allegiance to this school. It's like you joined a new country - one in which, they can tell you to cut your hair."

"That sucks!" The boy said. "They just sold me off to some other country?"

Henry smiled inwardly, settling back in his chair as the young man next to him, considered this new revelation.

"Dr. McCord!" Principal Applegate stepped out of his office. "It is good to see you again."

"McCord?" The boy said surprised. "I saw your wife on tv when she got . . ." He paused here, having at least the good sense not to finish his sentence. "No wonder you said all that. You are government! You are part of the system!"

"I'm just a teacher. My wife's part of the government." He said as rose to meet the principal.

"A teacher! That's even worse."

"I'll be with you shortly, Evan." Principal Applegate told the boy.

They stepped into the large office, and Mr. Applegate settled himself into a wing chair that sat opposite a small couch. A large mahogany desk sat in the far corner. He gestured toward the couch and Henry sat down.

"I appreciate you coming down so quickly." The principal told him. "I know Allison has no history of being disruptive or disrespectful in the past. In just her short time here, she has made a positive impact on our school community, so it is very concerning to see her having such a difficult time. Everyone involved in the incident has nothing but concern and compassion for your daughter."

"I appreciate that. We've had a pretty rough couple of weeks." Henry said. "But I don't really understand. What happened?"

"Her history teacher was discussing homework, and noticed that Allison hadn't submitted hers. She didn't punish Allison, but understood that perhaps things had been difficult lately. She was explaining that considering recent circumstance, she would give Allison more time, but said that Allison became very upset. She accused Ms. Simpkins of showing favoritism because her mother was Secretary of State, and that she didn't need special treatment. She raised her voice at the teacher becoming more and more distraught over time.

Henry sighed. "She was angry because her teacher was going to give her an extension?"

"Yes." The principal sighed. "Ms. Simpkin's assessment of the situation was that Allison was already upset when she came to class. She had noted that she had been withdrawn since the bombing - her other teachers had noted the same thing."

"When the secretary called she mentioned something about Allison throwing books around the room?"

"She just swept her hand across the desk, knocking her books to the ground and stormed out of class. She didn't throw them or do anything violent."

Henry sighed, leaning forward his elbows resting on his knees. "She has been really struggling over this. It isn't easy to realize your mother is a fairly vulnerable target to world violence." He shook his head, "She was alone watching the news. She saw it as it was happening."

"Our counselor tried to speak with her, but Allison was very reluctant to talk."

"Well, that's Ally." He sighed. "Of course none of this excuses her being disrespectful and disruptive."

"Ms. Simpkins seemed to to think otherwise. She doesn't think Allison needs to be punished and neither do I. Clearly, she is having difficulty navigating this act of violence against your family. I do think it best you take her home today, and see if you can't manage to find some way for her to process everything. We are supportive of her, and your family. If she needs a few days off, or an adjustment of her schedule to allow for counseling - we can work those things out."

"We appreciate that." Henry nodded his head.

"And of course, as you know, all matters involving your children are completely confidential. Speaking to the press is grounds for immediate dismissal of our staff, however, I cannot offer the same confidence when dealing with our student body. In the age of technology, it is entirely possible for a student to make an innocent post. If the press is keeping an eye on that sort of . . ."

"I understand. Let's hope they are distracted by something of significance."

"Yes." Principal Applegate rose, a hand outstretched. "She's waiting for you in the Vice Principal's office. I thought she could benefit from some privacy. Take her home, and please let us know what we can do to help her."

"Thank you for being so compassionate." Henry said, rising and shaking his outstretched hand. He was led across the hall to a smaller office. The principal nodded at him and disappeared toward the front, no doubt to explain to Evan that his rights to have long hair were nonexistent while on campus. He paused thoughtfully outside the door. In some ways, Allison was their easiest child - she nearly always wore her emotions on her sleeve. When she was younger, she was never sulky or broody - generally cheerful and fearless. She had become quieter with the onset of her teenage years - slipping into the black hole of teenage secretiveness and solitude, but even then she wasn't difficult to draw out. If you waited until she was ready - she was more than happy to talk things out. He offered a brief prayer that she would finally be ready and then pushed open the door.

She sat with her feet tucked up under her on the couch. She was staring out the window. Although she showed no sign of tears, it was clear from the hunch of her shoulders that she was upset.

"Busy day, Ally?" He asked leaning against the doorway.

"Dad!" She turned toward him startled. "Oh, they called _you_." He could tell by the tone of the last word, that he was not the McCord she was hoping to see just now.

"Your Mom's in a meeting with the President." He explained.

"Figures." Allison muttered. She rose quickly grabbing her backpack. "I guess I'm suspended."

"No, but you do get to spend the day with me." He told her.

"What did you do? Why aren't I suspended?" She demanded.

"Probably because the staff here has actual compassion for you."

"What? Did you do tell them their taxes would be audited if they suspended me?"

"You are starting to sound like Jason." He shook his head. "Your mother's realm isn't domestic affairs, and you ought to know by now, I haven't got that kind of influence over her. No one does."

"Whatever. Let's go." She stormed past him, and he followed her out wishing _he_ had a meeting with the president.

***MS***

"It is good to have you back, Bess." President Dalton said as she settled onto the couch.

"How are you feeling?" Russell Jackson asked her. He sat across from her, with the president between them.

"I'm much better, thank you." She responded.

"I know your staff has kept you informed but we have been in contact with both embassies. Your deputy will no doubt want to debrief you. He felt that certain messages needed to be sent and . . ."

"What message? That if an enraged father comes after someone, a nation is punished?" She shook her head. "This wasn't a political attack. I don't care what they claim on Nightline. And it wasn't an attack on me." She sighed. "The only message we need to send is that we stand with Ambassador Yamaldi's wife and that we support the rights of women in Yemen - a stand we've held since long before you took office."

"I agree." President Dalton said. He nodded at Russell. "Set up a meeting with Steven. Make sure he understands that Secretary McCord is fully back at work, and will take over."

"May I add something, Mr. President?" Elizabeth asked, leaning forward in her chair.

"Of course."

"Be sure to thank him for his service and managing the difficult days after the bombing. His reactions are understandable, especially when you take into account the slow intel that he received. I probably would have made some of the same statements."

"I doubt that." Russell told her.

"I don't want this to cause a rift. We need to work together as a cohesive team." She explained.

"I agree, and Steven is a reasonable man. I know he regrets his first harsh statements - although they were understandable at the time. It isn't easy to keep a measured response when one of your own has been attacked." President Conrad rose. "We are glad to have you with us again, Bess. But don't over do it. Listen to your doctors."

"I will, sir. Thank you Mr. President." She nodded at him, and at Russell, before exiting the oval office.

***MS***

"Blake?" She called out to him from where she sat at her desk.

"You could use that phone, you know." Blake said stepping into her office.

"I could see you hovering outside the doorway." She pushed her glasses down so she could see him more clearly. "Did you get the Venezuelan Ambassador on the phone?"

"He's at lunch. Which is what most people are doing right now, eating. I am supposed to remind you that you've got the meeting with the Foreign Minister of France at 12:45, so you need to eat something now."

"I'm not all that hungry." She said turning back to the papers in front of her.

"Ah, yes, well," Blake hesitated. "I'm _now_ instructed to remind you that you had a deal." He set a boxed salad on her desk.

"Blake!" She looked up at him shocked. "You are _my_ guy. I hired you! Where's your loyalty?"

"I understand that, Madam Secretary, but it was pointed out to me that while I may be 'your' guy, Dr. McCord has been trained to kill people with his bare hands."

"He's retired, and a Professor of Religion! He would just as soon kick Gandhi as harm you, Blake." She shook her head. "I'm ashamed you caved so easily."

"You should eat, all the same." Blake offered. "It would be a shame to waste that salad. There are people around the world starving even as we speak."

"Betrayal and guilt - on my first day back." She reached for the salad.

"Well, it's the White House, Madam Secretary." Blake offered with a shrug.


	8. Chapter 8

When they reached the front door, Allison turned to rush up the stairs, no doubt planning to hibernate in her room.

"Get changed." Henry called after her.

"What for?" She paused half-way up the stairs to gaze down at him.

"Basketball." He grinned at her. "I'm challenging you to a game."

"Dad! I don't want to play basketball!" She groaned.

"Well, I didn't want to cancel my last two classes and drive down to your school, did I?"

"This is punishment?"

"This is your Dad trying to make a connection." He waved a hand at her. "Go on. Get changed."

She thumped angrily up the stairs, muttering under her breath as she did. If it hadn't been clear that she was in deep pain over the attack on her mother, he would've laughed. Allison was never the stomping off, sighing teenage girl - at least not very often and a part of him found it hilarious when she tried it out. A buzzing at his hip, distracted him, and he lifted his phone to his ear.

"Did you threaten Blake?"

"Hey, sweetheart, I'm fine thanks, and how are you?" He asked sarcastically.

"Henry! I don't need babysitting. I've got an entire security team for one thing and . . ."

"And you've got a bad habit of forgetting to eat. Don't start Elizabeth. Normally, I'd let it go and just make sure you ate when you got home, but you need to take your meds, and they require food."

"So you infiltrated my staff?"

"You'd have done the same - or possibly worse. And I didn't threaten Blake. I just left a few articles regarding Air Force training on his desk. It was more like I was trying to let him get to know me better." He offered.

"Why aren't you in class?" She asked suddenly.

"Hmm? There was a . . . Class got cancelled."

"Why?" She asked.

"Uh, I don't . . . it's complicated and you're busy. I'll explain it later." He closed his eyes, recognizing that later he was going to have to pay for that little white lie to her. "But I should let you go. How is it, anyway? You haven't said."

"I'm completely under a pile of paperwork on my desk."

"Any cake?" He asked, teasing her.

"No. Just flowers."

"Well, I wouldn't be too disappointed. You are just a temp after all."

"You are just trying to make me mad." She told him. "It won't work. I know you are hiding something, but I haven't got the energy to tangle with you right now. I've got a meeting in a few minutes."

"I look forward to the interrogation." He teased her. "Remember, out the door at two."

"Don't bully me, Henry."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Madam Secretary."

***MS***

The ball hit the backboard and went into the basket as Allison laughed. He had forgotten what a consistent shot she was.

"That's 32. You'll never catch me." She gloated.

"I taught you to play." He pointed out. "So really your victory, is my victory."

"I am a natural. My coach said so." She held the ball tucked under her arm, smiling at him, and he had to swallow for a minute so pleased to see her smiling.

"What?" She asked suspiciously.

"It's good to see you smiling." He explained, reaching for the ball.

Her face turned dark at his words, and she slammed the ball hard against the concrete. Turning from him, she ran back to the house and disappearing inside. He stood frozen, shocked by her immediate and powerful rage. The only sound was that of the ball bouncing across the yard. With a heavy sigh, he retrieved the ball and followed her inside.

He expected her to go into her room slamming the door behind her, but was surprised to find her standing next to Elizabeth's desk, in the office downstairs. He paused to put the basketball in the entryway closet and then leaned against the doorway watching her as she paced the room like a caged tiger.

"I don't want to talk about it!" She said fiercely.

"How's that working out for you?" He asked.

"Dad!"

"You yelled at your teacher, Ally. _You_. You've never even had a late library book. In second grade you cried for two hours because you didn't get a smiley face on one of your papers - and you yelled at your teacher today."

"So lots of teenage kids do stuff like that." She glared at him. Her face reminded him so much of Elizabeth, that he almost smiled. They all leaned toward him in looks with dark hair and dark eyes, but all of them had their mother's stubbornness.

"You aren't most teenage kids. And we are above stereotypes."

"There isn't anything to say, anyway. It doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters! Your feelings matter and you are clearly really angry about something;" He paused before continuing softly. "At someone."

"No, I am not!" She stepped back defensively. "I never said that!"

"Well, let's noodle it through then, okay?"

"Oh, God! Don't start with Socrates, Dad!"

"No, c'mon. You are really good at this. We can break it down and figure it out."

"You thought your teacher was showing you favoritism, right? And that made you mad?" He asked her patiently.

"I don't know. I guess."

"So you must be mad at Ms. Simpkins?"

"Dad, please, c'mon. I'm sorry I yelled, okay? Can't that be the end of it?" She pleaded.

"And you've been pretty snippy with me, so maybe you are mad at me?" He continued ignoring her protest.

"No!" She sighed in frustration. "Dad, I don't want to talk about it!"

"You don't?" He asked her with a raised eyebrow. "Then why didn't you run upstairs and slam the door to your room, like any good teenager would?" He kept his voice soft, and gentle.

"I don't know." Her voice was quieter and her eyes down.

"Ally, are you angry with Ms. Simpkins?"

"No, sir." She shook her head as she answered.

"But you _are_ mad." He continued.

She said nothing but nodded her head vigorously. He considered her a moment longer, but not seeing the tall young woman in front of him. In his mind's eye she was four again and stubbornly trying to convince him that she was more than old enough to stay up as late as Stevie.

"Yes." She whispered.

"So we need to figure out why and who you are mad at - don't you think?"

She nodded her head silently again, her dark brown hair hiding her face.

"Maybe you are mad at me? I wasn't there and I didn't keep Mom safe?" He asked quietly, trying to separate his own guilt over this - trying to detach himself enough to help her find her way through it.

"No!" She looked up at him, her eyes full of fire. "I'm glad you weren't there! You would've been hurt too - maybe even . . ." She swallowed hard.

"So," He said, staving off tears. "You aren't mad at your teacher, and you aren't mad at me."

"I'm tired."

The memory of Elizabeth, curled in a ball, locked up tight, and turned away washed over him. She had said those same two words. He recognized that Ally, although her own person, was enough like her mother to use the same technique to dodge painful emotions.

He reached out and gently, grabbing hold of her elbow, led her across the entryway and into the livingroom, where he gently pushed her down on the couch. He sat down on the coffee table across from her.

"Noodle, I'm sorry you feel so bad. I know you just want to crawl into bed and forget about it. But you can't, hon. That's why you yelled at Ms. Simpkins. You cannot bury your feelings inside."

"Aren't you mad?" She asked looking up at him through a sheaf of bangs.

The question surprised him, and threw him off balance. He had been so busy trying to manage Elizabeth's guilt and anguish over the attack that he hadn't really spent too much time looking inward - other than to express his deep gratefulness that his dearest friend was still alive. _Was he? Was he angry with Liz over the choices she'd made?_

"I wish . . ." He paused. "I wish I'd been there." He told her truthfully. "I might have been able to see something sooner - not that your Mom or her staff weren't paying attention - just I'd like to think I could've somehow prevented it."

"But you aren't mad?" She repeated.

"No. I'm not." He told her. "At least, I'm not mad at your mother." She turned away from him at the last word, clearly ashamed. He moved to sit beside her on the couch, lifting her chin to meet his eyes. "But you are Ally. You are really angry with Mom."

***MS***

She was trying to have a conversation with Nadine, but Blake kept walking past her open doorway. It distracted her immensely. She glanced at the clock on her desk, and winced inwardly. 2:15.

"I don't think we can avoid scheduling a trip at this point, Madam Secretary." Nadine was saying, her voice edgy with nervousness.

"I agree." Elizabeth said with a sigh. "But let's try and schedule it a few weeks out. I'd like to not have this cast on when I travel. I think it is important that when we meet I show no signs of weakness."

"You've got no weakness in you." Nadine's eyes were wide with surprise. "Anyone with any sense can see that."

"Well, Dr. McCord would tell you different, as would our offspring." She said with a self-deprecating grin. "And Blake's got an opinion on the issue - don't you Blake?" She called this last part out to him.

He paused in her doorway, a hand to his chest with a look of innocence plastered across his face. "I'm sorry, Madam Secretary, did you need me?"

"You've been pacing in front of my door for the last twenty minutes."

"Oh, since _two o'clock_ then?" He asked with eyebrows raised.

"My husband has a class at three, he won't be home to check." She told him.

"Ah, well, I'm not sure if you are aware of this, Madam Secretary, but there are spies all over this building. Washington isn't really a secret-keeping kind of place."

Nadine laughed at this, and put a hand on Elizabeth's arm. "You should go home. All this paperwork can wait for tomorrow. You don't want to overdo it and then have to take more time off. You've given us enough to work on for today."

Elizabeth smiled, "Thank you, Nadine." Nadine nodded and turned to leave the room, but hesitated in the doorway.

"It's good to have you back, ma'am."

Blake stood where he was with his arms crossed watching her, after Nadine had left. Elizabeth had turned and was gathering up papers and stuffing them into her briefcase.

"Stop staring at me." She said, her back turned to him.

"I'm supposed to make sure you don't take home too much work." He said stepping into the room.

"Blake, is Dr. McCord paying you?" She asked, glaring him down.

"No, ma'am."

"Well, _I _do. So get back to work, now."

He paused and then turned from her. She felt guilty. She knew Blake was only concerned about her, and she shouldn't have been so harsh. But it was a bit patronizing having everyone around you watching you out of the corners of their eyes to see if you would have a break down. And she was a little bit anxious. After a quarter of a century together, she was very familiar with even the tones of Henry's voice, and she could tell from the phone call, that he was worried about something - something he didn't want to tell her. This both irritated and intrigued her. Did he now see her as less than capable? What was going on that he didn't want her to know about?

Mostly, however, she was exhausted. She wouldn't have admitted it to anyone, but being at work was pretty difficult. The work itself was familiar and comfortable, but the strain of thinking carefully, reading and meeting was intense. She recognized that this was what the doctors had told her would happen, but part of her was nervous that the attack would leave lasting scars that would impair her ability to work.

Gathering her things, she stepped out and walked to Blake's desk. His head was down bent over his work. "Your car's ready." He said without looking up.

"Blake," She said softly. "Thank you for everything you did today, and while I was gone."

"You are welcome, Madam Secretary." He said looking up at her.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier." She felt herself relax even as she said the words. "I'm not very good at slowing down and I appreciate you trying to remind me that I need to."

"Even Superman sleeps from time to time." He offered with a grin at her.

"I'm no Superman." She said, and reaching out squeezed his arm. "I'll see you tomorrow, Blake."

"Yes, Madam Secretary." He opened a drawer in his desk and handed her a small pink box. "Here, I wanted to give this to you to welcome you back."

She accepted the box, and laughed out loud when she opened it and looked inside. "Thank you, Blake."

"Good night, ma'am." He smiled at her and then turned back to his work.

Later, as she settled herself into the car, too exhausted to really even think, she debated whether to save the cupcake he'd given her to prove to Henry just how Very Important she was, but the effects of stress, exhaustion and chocolate were too much for her, and she ate it.

_Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews! I appreciate those of you who take the time to let me know you like the story - or not! According to outline there are about two or three more chapters left - I'm still working on it. My real life is pretty busy but I try to update often. Thanks again!_


	9. Chapter 9

Henry McCord recognized that one of the great difficulties in dealing with teenage angst, was that it took a lot of time to work through it. The whole time he was talking with Ally, he could feel the steady tick of the clock. He had hoped that she would have things settled _before_ her mother came home. It was one thing to understand the powerful and conflicting emotions brought on by sudden violence, but a totally different experience to witness it. The last thing Elizabeth needed was to hear her daughter express her anger - it would only bring more misplaced guilt. And the the last thing Allison needed was to see the hurt in her mother's eyes as she declared her anger.

He had gone to Allison's school after his 11:00 class had ended at noon, and by the time he'd met with the principal and found Ally, it was nearly 1:00. Although he had no expectation of Elizabeth coming home at 2:00 on the dot. He did expect her home before 3:00. He glanced up from Allison's hunched form. 2:45 p.m. _Damn_, he thought to himself.

"But that would be wrong, wouldn't it?" Allison asked him softly. "I can't be mad at Mom. It isn't her fault."

Her eyes had grown huge with tears when he had said, "But you are Ally. You are really angry at Mom." She had said nothing for the longest time - trying to process his words, or trying to think of a response that would effectively deny it. But now this soft question floated out between them. He turned from his reflection on the bad timing of his daughter's teenage crisis, and back to his daughter.

Her face was lifted up, gazing up at him, her dark eyes, clouded with confusion and pain. He wanted nothing more than to be able to pick her up, as he had when she was tiny and tuck her close against his heart. He felt his own unreasonable anger begin to boil over as he thought of the men - the strangers who had inflicted such pain on his family. He felt an animal rage wash over as he longed to reverse time, and prevent all the damage; keep his wife and his children safe.

He struggled, trying to stay in the moment with Allison, but fighting his own anger and his constant worry that Liz would step through the door at any moment. He fell back onto the comforting words of others, as he usually did under stress.

"'Anybody can become angry - that is easy, but to be angry with the right person and to the right degree and at the right time and for the right purpose, and in the right way - that isn't within everybody's power and is not easy.'" He quoted to her.

"But . . . ." She began, accustomed to her father's use of the words of great philosophers.

He continued thoughtfully, almost as though speaking to himself, "'There are two things a person should never be angry at, what they can help and what they cannot.'" He turned back to look at Allison, his own heart slowing closer to a normal rhythm again. "That was Plato and before that Aristotle, but Ally, it isn't wrong you are mad. It is how you feel and how you feel is how you feel."

"But it wasn't her fault. I _know_ that! And she almost . . ." Allison swallowed hard before continuing. "But I feel so angry. I _feel _ like she could have done something - that she should have known. She's really smart, Dad! How could someone just sneak up on her like that?"

Allison hadn't heard the front door swing open and wasn't sitting at an angle to see her mother step into the house, a bright smile on her face, that immediately faded when she saw Allison tucked under her father's protective arm, a look of anguish on her face. Henry met her eyes briefly, and she stood where she was briefcase still in her hand, listening. He tried to comfort her, even from the great distance that separated them, winking at her, but her face was white with shock, sorrow and shame.

"It is hard to think that she isn't safe." He offered Allison softly. "Why do you think you are so mad?"

Allison puzzled over this a minute. "Sometimes," She began very softly. "Sometimes, I wish she'd just stay home and bake cookies and be quiet. Why does she have to talk so much? It makes people mad."

"This had nothing to do with her, Noodle, you know that."

"But it could just as well have!" Her voice rose in pitch. "She's always saying and doing stuff that people don't like! And why does she even have to take that stupid job! I miss my friends and my school! Nothing good has happened since we came here! Stevie and mom got in that big fight! And both her friends are dead! And then she almost gets . . . gets . . ."

This outburst from Allison surprised him. The list of losses since Elizabeth had taken office seemed far too long, especially to think they were carried on such small shoulders. He had heard the same litany from Liz, after she'd returned home from Joey's funeral - or more rightly when she'd returned home from _not_ attending Joey's funeral. She'd wept just as bitterly over it, and said nearly the same words - worrying how all of it was impacting her children. He glanced up at her, wounded to see she still stood in the doorway, silently crying.

"'If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.'" He quoted, almost without thinking.

"I know, _that!"_ Allison said angrily. "I know she's right! And I feel horrible! How can I be angry with her! There are thousands of little girls all over Yemen right now how long to have a stack of homework to do - I know that! I must be some terrible monster!" She covered her face with her hands.

"You aren't a monster." He said gently. "You are a human being. You are a little girl," He paused expecting a protest from her, but got none. "Who watched someone hurt your mother. And it terrified you because you know, just like I do, that it could happen at any time. She isn't safe, and there's nothing we can do about it. And it makes you really mad."

"And you?" She asked, looking up at him through tears.

"Allison Grace, I've never felt such rage." He answered through gritted teeth, feeling the power of the complete honesty of those words.

"'Love implies anger. The man who is angered by nothing cares about nothing.'" She said softly to him, a small smile on her face. "Edward Abbey." He smiled warmly at this, leaning forward and kissing her forehead.

"I love you, Noodle."

"That's a pretty dangerous thing." She told him.

"It is." He agreed. "The most dangerous risk of all."

"'To love at all is to be vulnerable.'" Elizabeth said stepping into the room. She smiled at their upturned faces, reaching out to run a hand over Allison's cheek. "C.S. Lewis."

"Mom!" Her eyes grew wide with surprise. She glanced at her father. "I didn't know you . . ."

"I just got home." Elizabeth explained. "I'm sorry, honey. I am really, really sorry."

"No, I'm sorry." Allison said, her arms reaching out to her mother. Henry shifted out of the way, one hand rubbing gentle circles on his wife's back. "I've been so mean to you."

"That's alright. I scared you. I'm sorry, baby. I really am." Elizabeth murmured against Allison's forehead. And suddenly completely exhausted, Henry rose, pausing only to kiss the side of Elizabeth's head before stepping away from the sobbing huddle of his wife and daughter. He knew from experience they would cry, and hug and talk at the same time - it could last forever. He wandered into the kitchen rubbing a hand over his face feeling a bizarre combination of exhaustion and adrenaline. He was torn between a glass of whisky and going for a run.

He opted for a run, switching into his shorts and t-shirt quickly. He penned a brief note, in case they unhuddled and came up for air, and found himself outside in the bracing winds that blew off the Potomac. The steady pounding of his feet against the pavement, matched the rhythm of his heart. He ran hard, as though pursued by something dark and menacing, and from time to time the same scene seemed to flash in front of his eyes - Elizabeth looking small and helpless flying through air - not blown apart by a bomb, but rather a bomb herself - blowing his heart into thousands of pieces.


	10. Chapter 10

Henry McCord returned home to the improbable scene of Elizabeth baking cookies with Allison and Jason. He stepped into the kitchen feeling a sudden and oppressive heat. He wiped at his brow as a bead of sweat trickled down his nose.

"Dad!" Ali said, as though he'd been gone for a month. She crossed to him wrapping him in a hug.

"Uh, you might not want to . . ." He said, trying to step back and away from her.

"Gross! You stink!" She pulled back.

"He just went for a run, brainless." Jason said, a spoonful of cookie dough raised to his mouth.

"Hey! No!" Elizabeth said snatching it out of his hand. "Cookies, Jason. We are making cookies."

"Why? Everyone likes the dough." He pointed out.

"He's got a point." Henry said, stepping around Alison and grabbing a fingerful of cookie dough. "I'm taking a shower." He passed by them, giving his wife a brief kiss on the cheek. "After the cookies, sitting, feet up, resting." He commanded.

"Yes, sir, Captain Mc Cord." She teased him.

***MS***

The water felt good as it poured over his tired muscles. He felt completely drained. He tried to remember the last time he had experienced a "normal" day. The burden of stress and constant worry over Elizabeth, and the children, seemed to have been with him forever. Of course, in a larger sense, it was. From the day he'd married her, he'd felt an instinctive need to protect her - no even before that - the day he'd met her, maybe. It didn't matter that she didn't really need his protection. She was as smart as he was - probably smarter, and she'd been trained to physically protect herself - was capable in a firefight. The recent attack was proof of that. She had seen the threat, turned away from it, grabbing the person closest to her to protect them, too. And yet, it was always with him - this need to make sure she was safe; body and soul. Like Alison, it grieved him that this was proving to be an impossible task. Sometimes the world seemed rife with threat - car crashes, slippery patches of ice, mean-spirited boy friends, a baseball thrown to hard, and terrorists all seemed to hover just outside their door seeking his family.

"Hey, you still got hot water?" Elizabeth's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"What?" He asked.

"You've been in there an hour!" She told him.

"Sorry, lost track of time." He peered out from the shower. "I'll get out."

She leaned against the vanity, handing him a towel as he stepped out the shower.

"Ali okay?" He asked her.

"Yeah, well, I mean as okay as any of us are." She shrugged. "At least she isn't pretending not to be upset any more."

"I wonder where she got that habit?" He raised an eyebrow at her, walking out of the bathroom and disappearing inside the closet. She followed him out, sitting on the bench at the end of the bed.

"From the both of us, I imagine."

He laughed at this. "Babe, when I'm angry, you know it." He pointed out to her, stepping out of the closet dressed in sweats, a t-shirt in his hands. "I'm not the one who storms around the house cleaning."

"It gets the house clean, and I wasn't talking about anger."

"How was your first day back, anyway?" He asked, sliding the t-shirt over his head.

"I don't know. It felt strange. It seemed like everyone was watching me, and Matt wasn't there. It is kind of like starting over again."

"Nah, just a first day back." He said to her. "You'll find your groove."

"So tell me about Ali; about school."

"She blew up at one of her teachers. It was just misplaced anger." He shrugged at her, running his fingers through his wet hair. "They were great about it. She's not suspended - just called me and sent her home, so she could deal with it."

"Called _you_." Elizabeth said accusingly.

"Babe, you were in a meeting with the President. What did you want me to do?"

"I wasn't in a meeting all afternoon." She said angrily. "I called you, Henry."

"Yeah, you did." He stood with his arms folded across his body.

"You lied to me!"

"I did not lie." He pointed a finger at her, leaning forward. "I told you class was cancelled. That was true. I cancelled it."

"Oh, we're gonna split hairs now! You lied to me and you know it!"

"Oh, c'mon Liz. It's your first day back! You should be asleep! You don't need all this stress!"

"It's 7:45. I was in an accident, Henry, I'm not 84!" She rose following him back into the bathroom as he picked up his towel tossing it into the hamper.

"It's wasn't an accident." He spit out angrily, turning to face her. His fury surprised her, and she backed up a step. "Talk about lying!" He muttered, and brushed past her.

"Henry, wait a sec," She followed him back out into their bedroom, but he was already going out the door.

"I'm gonna go eat a cookie." He said over his shoulder. "And I swear, Liz, if you don't get it in that damn bed, and rest, I'm gonna . . ." But he didn't finish his sentence, taking the stairs two at a time.

***MS***

"Hey, Dad." Stevie stepped into the house, and paused leaning into the doorway of the study.

"Is it that late?" He looked up from his computer screen, blinking. "How was work?"

"Slow night. I got off early. How was Mom's day?"

"Uh, good."

She wrinkled her brow at his hesitation. "How's Ali?" She asked him.

"What do you know about that?" He hoped it hadn't been through the internet.

"Jason texted me."

"She's doing okay. It's just hard realizing that everyone around you is vulnerable."

"I wish she hadn't been all alone. It was late. We shouldn't have been playing basketball. I remember thinking the neighbors would complain, but Jason wanted to. And I guess I wanted him to think I was cool - not uptight." She sighed. "It seems so stupid now."

"She's ok. You did great, Stevie." He reached for her hand squeezing her fingers. "We saved you some dinner, if you are hungry." He offered, and she turned to go, but paused, looking back over her shoulder at him.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?" He had turned back to the computer.

"Why are you downstairs?"

The problem with Stevie was that she was just as intuitive as her mother, and from the time she was small, picked up on their moods and arguments.

"I, uh," He sighed, taking off his glasses and turning around to face her.

He forgot sometimes how many years had passed, and it would catch him by surprise to see her, not a girl but a young and beautiful woman. He felt a strange wave of nostalgia wash over him, wishing for the days when Stevie was tiny, and when his biggest worry was if her carseat was safe enough.

"You look really tired." She said gently. "You should go to bed."

"Thanks, _Mom_." He teased her, rising with a smile, and kissing her forehead. "Don't over do it, Stephanie. Your mom and I are really grateful for the way you've been so . . ." He couldn't put into words his gratitude that Ali and Jason had their older sister with them, when they were half a world away, unable to comfort them.

"The price of being born first." She shrugged.

"No," He said, pausing to push her hair away from her forehead. "It's extraordinary, Stevie. You were born to lead."

"Well, you know what they say about apples and trees." She laughed.

"'I regard no man as poor, who has a goodly mother.'" He quoted. "Abraham Lincoln."

"Who said I was talking about Mom?" She smiled at him, and standing on tiptoe, kissed his cheek. "Go upstairs." She threw this command over her shoulder, as she disappeared into the darkness of the kitchen.

He sighed heavily, watching her go. Glancing at his watch he saw that it was 9:45. Elizabeth ought to be asleep. She wouldn't be, of course, but she ought to be. He supposed it was his fault, blowing up at her, and then hiding out all evening. It was nothing how he'd hoped her first day back would go. He drew in a deep breath, and gathering his courage, headed upstairs.

***MS***

Elizabeth McCord sat on the chaise in her bedroom trying to read the report in her hand. She found it difficult to focus though and kept looking out the window at the dark sky. She was woozy with sleepiness but restless too. The ups and downs of the day had exhausted her and she could no longer determine whether she was upset or numb with weariness.

Coming home to find Ali sobbing in her father's arms, discussing her guilt over her anger towards her mother was not small thing. And yet, she felt strangely empowered. Wrapping her arms around Ali and talking her through her struggle was such an ordinary and familiar action - even if the source of her anguish was not. She was comfortable mothering her children - it was the most normal thing she had done in weeks.

Hearing movement in the hall, she looked up to see Jason standing in the doorway. She loved that for all his tough talk and political talk, he still wore a pair of Star Wars pajamas to bed. It always made her smile.

"Where's Dad?" He asked her.

"Downstairs, I think." She kept all hurt out of her voice, trying to deliver this sentence as neutrally as possible.

"You fighting?" He asked with wrinkled brow.

"You need something?" She asked.

"No, I . . ." He turned to go, but changed his mind, stepping into the room tentatively.

"What?" She asked him.

"Why . . . why wasn't he there?" It was clear from his expression that this was a question he'd been wanting to ask. "I mean Stevie just said that he stayed behind but why?"

"He didn't need to be there." She told him simply.

"Yeah, but," He took a step closer to her. "He didn't _need_ to go at all. I mean, he was just tagging along, right. It's not like _he's_ a diplomat or anything. He was just there to be with you, so why wasn't he with you?"

She patted the end of the chaise, and he sat down facing her. "It was going to be a long day. We had the meeting in the early afternoon, and then a dinner and reception that evening. He didn't need to go to both." She watched his face as he absorbed this information. "But it wouldn't have made a difference, Jas."

"You can't know that. Dad's military. And he's really smart. He might've noticed something before it even started."

"I'm smart, and I worked for the CIA, you know that." She sighed, reaching out and rubbing a hand over his back.

"But you are . . ."

"A woman?" She shook her head at him. "That's a little misogynistic, don't you think?"

"Mom," He complained. "This isn't . . . Dad is physically stronger than you. That's just a fact of science."

"Being stronger wouldn't have made a difference." They both turned their heads to find Henry standing in the doorway. Elizabeth smiled sadly at him, knowing that the constant rehashing of this fact didn't make things easier for her husband. "I stayed at the hotel because it was a really beautiful suite of rooms, and because I was lazy."

"Dad?" Jason's face fell at this. "What do you . . ."

"No, that isn't true." She interrupted. "I appreciate you've got a false sense of guilt, but don't transfer that onto Jason. He's got enough to work through. And it isn't even true."

"It is." He said with a bitter laugh.

She sighed loudly, rising up off the chaise lounge, and putting a hand on Jason's shoulder. "Listen, your Dad is dealing with feeling guilty over not being there, okay? He wants to believe, just like you, that somehow I could've been protected, but I was protected! I had my entire security detail around me, and Fred got me out. So, there isn't anything to be guilty about. Dad being there wouldn't have made a difference - at least not in a positive way."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Henry asked clearly hurt.

"You would've gone after the bomber." Jason said, looking up at him. "Even I understand that, Dad. You would've run straight at him, and you'd be dead."

"Jason . . ." Elizabeth said cautiously.

"Well, it's what you are talking about, isn't it? I hadn't really thought of that until just now. But she's right, Dad. You would be dead, and that wouldn't have helped any of us - least of all, Mom." He rose wrapping his arms around his mother. "I know I talk about it all the time, but I'm not really an anarchist." He said holding tightly to her. "I would never condone violence. Never."

She squeezed him tighter, and kissed his cheek, leaning back to brush the hair out of his face. "I know that."

"Okay." He said, stepping awkwardly away from her. "Good." He turned to his father, and hugged him too. "You listen to her, Dad. She's pretty smart." He released a surprised Henry and turned to leave their room. "Good night." He said pulling the door closed behind him.

"When . . ." Henry thumbed in Jason direction. "When did he get so mature?"

She laughed at this. "It won't last, remember - the shifting sands of teenagedom."

She crossed back to the chaise, gathering up papers and putting them back into her briefcase which leaned against the side of the chaise lounge. After putting everything away, she walked over to the bed, and pulled the covers back.

"If you are planning on fighting with me just now, I hope you don't mind if I'm lying in bed while we argue. This day is wearing me out." She climbed into the bed, looking up at him with stormy blue eyes.

"I'm not fighting with you. Why would I be fighting with you?" He asked.

"I don't know, but you blew up at me and disappeared for two hours, so it feels like a fight."

He sat down heavily on the end of the bed without talking. She sat facing him, her chin resting on her knees.

"You are having a delayed reaction?" She asked this question softly, surprise in her voice. In the three weeks since the bombing, she and Henry had more than one discussion about it - had wept together more than once about it. She had thought he was processing it, but looking at things backwards, she recognized that every bit of angst, every tear he'd shed had been on behalf of her, or the children. She slid her legs out, moving closer to him. Reaching out, she began to rub gentle circles over his back. "Hey, Henry, it's okay. I'm fine."

He nodded, still silent. She could see the tightness in his jaw and feel the rigidity of his muscles under her hand. He was such a kind, thoughtful, good man, and she wondered at it - how she could've managed such luck. Twenty-five years later, she found herself even more in love with him than before, and he felt the same. Their lives were so complicated - had always been so complicated but he was always there - even when they struggled through difficult days; always. She thought again about Jason's words,_ "You'd be dead." _ She couldn't manage the thought of that possibility. A wave of nausea washed over her even as the idea flitted through her brain. She couldn't picture herself alone, day after day - night after lonely night.

The bombing was something they'd both experienced. And yet, she realized suddenly that while he had struggled to understand and help her through that experience, she hadn't really taken into account _his_ experience. He'd been twenty miles away, locked down in a hotel room watching a bomb explode right next to her. She tried to imagine; imagine being cut off from him - waiting to see if he was lost forever.

"Henry," She said softly looking up into his face. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to . . ." The words came out of him choked and stilted.

"No, I'm sorry. You must have been so . . ." She couldn't put it into words, and maybe he couldn't either. "I hadn't thought about how . . . I'm sorry. I've been so focused on . . ."

"No." He cleared his throat, the vein in his neck bulging as he swallowed down tears. "Don't feel guilty over . . ." He turned away from her. "God, it's after ten! You should be asleep."

She sat up, and rubbed her hand over the side of his face - marvelling at the fact that even the muscles in his face were tight with stress. "Shhh . . ." She breathed out softly. "Stop."

He turned to look at her then, his dark eyes bright with unshed tears.

"Lizzie."

It came out a broken whisper, filled with tears, and she could feel in it - his fear, anguish and love. His use of quotes and thoughts from the past had rubbed off on her over the years, and she thought again of what C.S. Lewis had once said, "To love at all is to be vulnerable." One look in his pained eyes and she could see evidence of that. His love for her was dangerous - his heart connected to her own fate. There was nothing she could possibly say to him. She understood his fear - she felt it too - had lived with it while he was at war, and when he worked for the NAS - struggled with it every single day. So, she said nothing, but pulled him forward, and down into the comforting softness of her arms, knowing there was no fixing it. She kept her arms tight around him as he wept.


	11. Chapter 11

Henry McCord stood at the kitchen window watching the sun rise, a cup of coffee in his hand. An early call had robbed Elizabeth from bed, and though he had no reason to be up that early, he found sleep impossible without her curled beside him. He decided he might as well get some work done before the morning chaos began. He had somehow managed to squeeze out a few pages when the brightness of dawn caught his eye. Paddling on bare feet into the kitchen, he poured himself a cup of coffee watching the sun rise.

The growing light always made him reflect on renewal and redemption. Even as a child his mind always wandered into deeper waters than everyone around him. His mother used to tell the story of when he was three (he was sure this was an exaggeration) and she had gone to his bed late one night after he had called out to her.

"_Mama, why is death forever?" He had asked, as she'd leaned over his bed._

"_What?" _

"_When you die you are gone for all time." He had told her with wide innocent eyes._

"_Lord, child, go to sleep." She had said, shaking her head at him._

His father had never encouraged his deeper thoughts, always pointing out to him that a "man works with his hands and his strength", and that "thinking is a waste of time - it won't feed your family." The irony, of course being, that it _did_ in fact feed his family. Something his father, still had yet to appreciate, but then again, he considered thoughtfully, he was probably getting a little old to seek his father's approval.

He turned and clicked on the tv as he contemplated breakfast. The anchor's voice was a soft murmur in the background of his thoughts.

". . . it is clear that things have escalated. The President said he would be sending the Secretary of State sometime in the next week in hopes of building a peace between the two nations who at this point seem determined to maintain their rights to . . ."

"A trip?" Jason's voice startled him. He stood in the doorway, his hair rumpled from sleep, a frown across his face, his eyes wide with fear. "She didn't say anything about a trip."

He immediately clicked off the tv. "Jason, you scared me!" He said, jumping up. "It's early. Why don't you go back to bed?"

"Back to bed?" He pointed an arm at the tv. "Why don't you answer the question?"

He supposed Jason's obsession with conspiracies was a different version of his own endless thoughts but it was decidedly inconvenient at times. He studied his son thoughtfully. They had finally reached a new level of peace in the house. Elizabeth's cast had come off just a few days ago, and her bruises had faded - the bombing though not erased, or forgotten, but slowly become part of their past; part of history. Everyone seemed to be processing it and he dreaded how much this upcoming trip would stir it all back up again. He studied his son thoughtfully, marveling at how young he looked standing in the kitchen, groggy from sleep wearing his Star Wars pajamas.

"Listen, I'm not trying to hide anything . . ." He stopped recognizing that this was a lie. They _were _in fact committed to hiding the trip from the kids for as long as possible. "We were going to talk to you about it tonight. She has to go. It's part of the job."

"To Afghanistan!" His eyes were wide. "You've got to be freakin' kidding me, Dad!"

"She'll be safe." He tried to make his voice sound confident and secure.

"Yeah, right! Whatever!"

"It doesn't matter where this trip goes, Jason. You are going to be nervous anyway." He pointed out.

"I'd be a lot calmer if she were going to Sweden." Jason spit out angrily. "How long have you known?"

"What difference does that make?"

"Whatever! I'm just some stupid kid! Don't bother telling _me_ anything!" He turned around angrily.

"Hey, no, wait a sec." Henry sprang forward, taking hold of Jason's arm. "No, you know that isn't what's going on." He could feel Jason trembling as he held his arm. He shifted so that he wrapped an arm around his son's shaking shoulders. "Hey, c'mon. You know that's not how things work for us." He pulled him tight against his side. "Listen, I know it is scary to think about, and that's why we waited. We thought that it would be better if you felt this way for as short a time as possible."

Jason said nothing, but turned his body toward his father, wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug. Henry blinked back tears, and ran a hand through Jason's thick hair. They stood together for a long minute, and then Jason stepped back wiping his eyes self-consciously.

"When?" He asked.

"Saturday."

Jason nodded his head, his face tight with stress. "You should tell Ali about ten minutes before you leave. She's gonna freak."

"I'm not . . ."

"Why would I freak?" Alison stood in the doorway surprising them, and Henry found himself completely at a loss for words.

"One Direction is breaking up." Jason said without missing a beat, settling into a chair at the table. "Least that's the rumor."

"There's always a rumor and I haven't liked them since third grade." She glared at her little brother.

"Well, still the loss of a dear childhood friend." Henry said, relieved that Jason had given him something to say. "'Death is not the greatest loss. The greatest loss is what dies inside. Never surrender.'" He quoted at her.

She sighed, folding herself into a chair as she rubbed her face. "Thomas Aquinas?"

"Tupac." He answered, smiling down at her, as her eyes grew wide in disbelief.

***MS***

"Well, look at you!" Elizabeth broke into a wide smile as she stepped into the outer office to find Matt teetering precariously on a pair of crutches. "Matt! I'm so happy to see you."

"Thank you, Madam Secretary." He smiled sheepishly at her. "It's good to see you looking so well."

"Well, looks can be awfully deceiving, don't you think." She reached out squeezing his forearm as she spoke. "How are you doing?"

"Well, I have another surgery in a few weeks and possibly a couple more over the next few years, but I'm walking so I guess things are pretty good."

"I'm so sorry." She told him.

"Well, you didn't strap a bomb to yourself, so an apology is unnecessary. Though, and I've been thinking about this a lot, you were right - that joke was terrible. You should have cut it."

Elizabeth blinked twice, utterly stunned by Matt. She had nearly forgotten the argument. It had happened minutes before the speech. She had told him she was cutting the joke he'd written, and he'd protested.

"I did cut it." She told him. "I just never got the chance to finish the speech."

He shifted on his crutches. "We'll never know, though. You might have been caught up in the moment and changed your mind." He winked at her.

Laughing, she said, "I doubt it!"

"There you are!" Daisy approached them, a scowl on her face. "You aren't supposed to standing! C'mon! Let's get you to your office."

She looked up at Elizabeth. "Oh! I'm sorry, Madam Secretary."

"Don't apologize! You are right." She gave Matt's arm one last squeeze. "Don't overdo it. Although we are all happy you are here, you've no need to rush back."

"Thank you, ma'am." He nodded at her. "But I really wanted to work on your speech for your trip. I'm pretty sure I can work that joke into it." He grinned at her as Daisy led him away.

***MS***

Sleep was never going to happen. He felt tense and anxious. There was no way he'd fall asleep. They'd spent a very stressful pair of days fielding questions from the children - trying to somehow convince them that Elizabeth's last trip was an anomaly and that it would never be repeated. It was difficult mustering the strength to convince them of this when he felt iffy about it himself. He had read _Summa Theologica_, looking for comfort in the old words, but apparently, Thomas Aquinas had no words for putting your best friend on a plane and sending her half a world away to visit a land completely swallowed up in violence.

"Quit sighing like that." Elizabeth whispered.

He rolled toward her, so that he faced her, his face inches from hers.

"I didn't know I was sighing." He whispered back. He ran his hand along the bare skin of her shoulder and back. "You should sleep."

"So should you." She smiled at him. "Somehow I don't think that is in the cards tonight."

"No." He agreed. "The kids asleep?" She had risen an hour ago, wrapped herself in a robe and checked on them. It had not been easy sending them to bed. They had all wanted just a few more minutes of her time - which due to the trip in the morning had been in short supply.

"Stevie might be up." She told him. "She was reading when I checked on her."

He said nothing in reply, watching as her eyelashes fluttered as she spoke. He traced the line of her cheek with a finger.

"You are staring." She pointed out.

"You are beautiful." He whispered, leaning closer and kissing the tip of her nose.

"Don't forget about Ali's soccer tournament." She reminded him. "She's stormy enough without us forgetting the details of her life."

"Put it in my phone with an alarm."

"Smart man." Her soft fingers brushed back and forth along his hip. "I don't think you should come to the airport."

"Too bad."

"C'mon, Henry. The kids will be upset, and the press is probably going to be there. I'm gonna have to keep together. If you're . . ."

"Fred said there would be a private room and then straight on the tarmac. No press."

"What about the kids?"

"I talked to them. They said it was fine." She sighed at this rolling over onto her back.

"Henry, you aren't being very cooperative."

"I know." He agreed cheerfully. He rolled toward her, leaning up on his elbow to peer down into her face. "Listen, Babe. I know it makes you uncomfortable because you've got to have your game face on, but I can't not go and see . . ." He swallowed. "I need to see your security around you. I need to see that the plane has been swept."

"What happened to 'Faith has to do with things that are not seen and hope with things that are not at hand?'"

"Thomas Aquinas never put his wife on a plane, just five weeks after she was nearly killed by a bomb. And he certainly never met a woman like you." He slid his arms around her kissing her.

"Everything is going to be fine, Henry." She whispered. "I promise it."

"Good because if there's even a hint of trouble, I'm going to steal an F-15, and come and get you myself." Her eyes widened at the harshness of his declaration, and he was surprised himself at how angry it sounded. "Sorry," He said his voice softer. "Sometimes, Neanderthal man takes over. He's got a real passionate sense of protectiveness toward you, darlin'."

"I don't mind." She confessed in a whisper, pulling him in tighter, and then all his worry and fears were erased as he lost himself somewhere inside her kisses.


	12. Chapter 12

Stevie McCord stood hesitantly in the doorway of her parent's bedroom. Her mother was seated on the bench at the end of the bed, a shoe in her hand. She appeared to be lost in thought; or perhaps, asleep. It was, after all, only 3:30 in the morning.

"Mom?" Stevie asked softly.

"What are you doing up?" Her mother whispered.

"I couldn't sleep and Dad's banging around downstairs, so . . ." She studied the heel in her mother's hand. "Why don't you just wear some flats?" Her mother _hated_ heels - hated them with a passion. The very first thing she always did when she came home was kick off her shoes - more often than not she would take them off and chuck them across the room. Her children had learned to duck.

Her mother sighed, shaking her head. "Appearances."

"What does that even mean?" Stevie asked, moving to stand in front of her mother.

"I need to seem strong; intimidating." Her mother offered with a shrug of her shoulders. She bent low, sliding the hated shoe onto her foot.

"You are intimidating." Stevie pointed out.

"She's terrifying." Henry McCord agreed, leaning in the doorway of the bedroom. "Seriously, Liz, we'll never make it." He pointed to his watch.

"You don't need shoes to appear strong. The clothes don't make the man." Stevie offered, as her mother searched for her missing second shoe. Stevie, spotting the shoe, knelt down and picked it up, handing it to her mother.

"Well, unfortunately, when you are meeting with a man who is 250 lbs, and 6'4, he isn't as impressed as you'd think by a small, blond, American _woman_. You need every advantage." She slid her foot into the shoe. "So, it's either gain 40 lbs or wear these god-awful things." She stood smoothing her skirt with the flat of her hand. "How do I look?"

Stevie considered her a moment, "Like you are about to go kick some asses."

"Stevie . . ." Her father warned, but Elizabeth laughed and reaching out pulled her oldest child into a hug, stunned as she always was that she had to reach _up_ to do so.

"I'll be home next Tuesday." She said kissing her daughter's cheek. "No, reason to stress. We've done this a million times before." She squeezed Stevie tightly.

"I love you, Mom." Stevie said, trying to hide the tremble in her voice. "I'll keep an eye on things."

"I know you will." Elizabeth stepped back just enough to see Stevie's face. "I love you, too." She told her, and kissing her forehead, she released her, reaching immediately for her husband's hand, as she did.

"I'll be back in an hour or so." Henry told Stevie with a wink. "Go back to bed, hon."

Stevie watched her parents as they left the room, sinking down onto the bed only after they left. Her heart beat wildly inside her chest, and she drew in a long slow breath to try and calm it. She sat for a long time, unable to think any clear thoughts at all, her eyes resting on a picture of her parents that sat on the desk in the corner of the room. It was a typical picture of them, her father, a book in his hand, and her mother, resting against his chest. They were both smiling, of course, as they generally did when they were together. _Next Tuesday_. She thought, wondering if it was possible to hold your breath until then.

"They left?" Her sister Ali stood in the doorway, a look of sorrow etched on her face.

"Yeah, you just missed them."

"Oh." Ali looked down, making circles in the carpet with her bare feet.

"She said goodbye last night." Stevie pointed out.

"I know." Ali agreed. "I was just hoping to . . ."

Stevie rose, and wrapped an arm around her little sister. "I'm sorry, kid. How 'bout you and me see if we can't mix up a feast for Jason? It'll give us something to do."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Besides, Dad'll be back in a bit. We can stuff him full of food."

They went down the hall together, and as they headed down the stairs, she heard the creak of Jason's door.

"Mom's already gone?" He asked, his voice a disappointed whine.

_Oh, God! This was going to be a really long week._ Stevie thought.

***MS***

Darkness surrounded Washington, D.C., as the car rolled through the streets. Despite the early hours, there was traffic; there was always traffic. Elizabeth leaned back in the seat and glanced out the window. The city was always beautiful and she was trying to enjoy the view, but truthfully she was simply trying to avoid her husband's eyes.

She had somehow managed to divide her life into sections. Work Elizabeth was fearless, capable, determined, and never a push-over. She kept her emotions in check and was relentless when she needed something to happen. She was known for her uncanny ability to evaluate situations and people.

The other part of her life was different; more open and emotional. She was quick to laugh and fiercely loyal to her family. She was still determined and no push over - unless you were holding a bowl of ice cream in your hand - then she was open to reconsidering her position. It wasn't that she was less independent at home, but rather, that her independence was bolstered by her connection to Henry.

When she was younger, before Henry, she had always been able to keep a piece of herself separate and independent. No one had been able to smash through the careful walls she'd built around herself. It wasn't that she hadn't been emotionally open to others, but rather that her openness was always on her terms. _She _determined who she would let in, and _she _decided what people would know about her.

And then Henry came along. He was calm and sweet, and handsome. He was quiet and unassuming, and she had mistakenly believed that he would be easy to manage - that his quietness meant he wouldn't be able to break in. It was somewhere around the third date, when his questions about her difficult first days at boarding school - when she'd been homesick and felt the inevitable sting of rejection (_They sent me away?)_, had pushed her boundaries. It was the point in a conversation when she would cleverly throw a question back out - driving the person away from something she didn't want to reveal. And so she had used the technique that had always worked.

"_You have some strong opinions about boarding school." She had smiled charmingly at him. "Or maybe," She hesitated for effect. "Maybe you are consumed with jealousy? You always wanted to join the elite?"_ It was a sharp and biting comment, but purposefully so - it would drive the questioner away, and keep things squarely within her control.

"_You always bullshit your dates?" He'd asked, shocking her completely. He must have seen something in her eyes because he immediately followed it with, "You don't have do that, Liz. You don't want to talk about something - just tell me. I can respect that."_

She had sat back, blinking with wide eyes, utterly surprised, and then she realized that she would never be able hide anything from him. Three dates in and he already understood - clearly understood what she had been trying to do and why she was trying to do it. And it was then, halfway through their third date, that she had leaned forward, looking into Henry's dark eyes and felt all her walls fall away and it hadn't terrified her one bit. It was like the opening of a cage. She felt her whole being relax and for the rest of date one word seemed to reverberate with every beat of her heart: _Forever._

"Hey," He said, reaching for her hand. "I figure, with traffic, we've got forty minutes of free time. So do you want to hide over there in that corner, or do you want to make out a little?" He laughed even as he said it, and she was forced to turn and smile at him.

"These are my only choices?" She shook her head at him.

"I guess we could discuss world politics, or maybe religion?" He grinned, at her pulling her in closer to his side, one arm wrapped around her.

"I have to . . ." She began.

"I know." He interrupted. "But it's just you and me back here, so you don't need to be Madam Secretary right this second, do you?"

"Henry . . ." She began.

"So, you prefer we pretend you aren't going on an incredibly dangerous trip?" He asked with eyebrows raised at her.

"'Incredibly' seems an overstatement. We will be in a protected compound."

"Right."

"There's nothing to worry about." She argued stubbornly.

"Babe, I've been to Afghanistan." He pointed out.

"That isn't the same, and that was awhile back."

"The desert never changes." He told her. "Look, you are right. You'll be safe, but just for the sake of argument, promise you'll listen to Fred, huh?"

"I will." She answered, squeezing his fingers tightly. "Don't worry."

"I'll give it a try." He smiled at her. "Babe, listen, at some point someone is going to come up to you and show you a picture of some soldier - someone Stevie's age and they are going to tell you how much it would mean to the troops if you would stop by and visit. It will sound innocent and you'll probably think it is a great idea - Nadine will love the optics of it. But honey, they bomb bases. They bomb them all the time - especially when important dignitaries are visiting. So, I need you to promise me, you won't leave any of the secure compounds."

"Henry . . ." She began softly. "I don't want to make any promises I can't keep. I don't know what is going to happen."

"Liz, c'mon. Meet me halfway, here." He pleaded.

"And if Stevie were a soldier stationed half a world away, wouldn't you want me to visit her?"

Henry said nothing for a full minute, and she knew he was debating getting into an argument with her. She was impressed that he hadn't launched straight into an argument - which of course had been her objective. Arguing was much easier, than trying to manage their fears.

"Same old bullshiter, Liz." He'd said with a laugh. "I'm not taking the bait." He sighed, and leaned back lifting a hand to rub his forehead. "You make me tired sometimes, you know that?"

"Henry, I have to keep it together. I _told_ you not to come." She pointed out.

"So, I'm supposed to just load you into a car and send you on your way." He shook his head. "Think that through, babe. Reverse it. Would you stay home?"

"I would barricade the door with you inside." She responded immediately, her tone fierce, and Henry laughed. "But you are supposed to be the rational one, remember?"

"Not when it comes to you." He offered with a shrug. "Alright, a compromise then."

"What?"

"If for some reason you do go off the compound, leave the heels behind." He pointed at her shoes. "Wear something you can run in, okay? Borrow some combat boots. I'd feel better if I knew you could make a run for it if you had to."

"Leave these behind?" She pointed at her feet. "That's an easy promise." She leaned forward giving him a kiss. "I'm sorry." She whispered. "I just . . ."

"Forget it." He said, his arms tightening around her. "I understand, but fighting isn't any fun. C'mon, now, wouldn't you rather kiss?" She didn't use any words, but answered him all the same.

***MS***

Agent Fred Cole surveyed the small hangar they'd commandeered. In the far corner, they'd set up a table and several of his agents were gathered around it. He glanced behind him, as Frank was opening the door and Secretary McCord stepped out, followed by her husband.

"They are just about to sweep the plane again." He told them. "There's a small office over there." He pointed to a corner of the hangar. "You can wait in there, if you'd like. It's warmer in there."

"Thank you, Fred." She glanced back in that direction and saw her staff, minus Matt, who still recovering, huddled together near the office. "I'm just going to check in." She told Henry who nodded. The click of her heels across the pavement was the only sound as the two men stood where they were. Henry waited until she was gone.

"You want to request a transfer?" Henry's tone was cold; angry. "Really? I can't believe it!"

"Sir, that's why I notified you first." Fred began. "I sent the email to you so that you could . . ."

"Too much travel? Too dangerous?" Henry spat out angrily, interrupting Agent Cole.

"It's nothing like that." Fred knew Dr. McCord was going to be angry, but he hadn't expected him to respond to his private email today. "I . . ." He struggled.

"The bombing?" Henry asked, his brows furrowed, despite his anger, in concern.

"Not exactly." Fred admitted. He sighed in frustration. "Most people I guard are politicians." He explained. "I've got to keep their mistresses and wives separate. I've got to watch them sit at a desk and get fatter and do nothing. I do my job, and am committed to it, but it isn't like I really _care_ what happens to them." He looked up at Dr. McCord who stood watching, his arms crossed over his body. "But she's . . ."

"Too much trouble?" Henry offered.

"No." Fred sighed. He took a step away from Dr. McCord, clearly struggling to communicate his reasoning. He had sent the email to Dr. McCord two days ago, hoping that they could discuss after they had returned from Afghanistan. He sighed again, and faced Secretary McCord's husband squarely. "Did I ever tell you I had a little sister?"

"No." Henry's face wrinkled in confusion. Fred was never personal.

"Evelyn. I was nine when she was born. She was trouble from day one. She made up her mind about things and she did them. It didn't matter if they were impossible, or dangerous - she just did them. No one could tell her no - no one could stop her." He smiled at the memory. "When she was eleven, she was diagnosed with leukemia. I was at school by then, but I came home every single weekend, and would read to her - and even," He paused swallowing. "And even at the end when she was so sick, she would come up with these crazy ideas and I'd find myself sneaking her out of the hospital so she could see how fast her bed rolled down a big hill or to watch the morning sun rise."

"You said that you '_had'_ a sister. The cancer?" Henry added gently.

"The treatment is better now - more effective. Back then, she didn't have good odds. She didn't make it to twelve." Fred explained. "But that girl lived. She was stubborn, and wild, and so determined. Nothing stopped her, but she had such a . . ." He paused searching for the right word. "Hopeful kindness - a joy for life."

"Oh," Henry said, his eyes widening in recognition. "That sounds familiar."

"Yes." Fred agreed.

"I'm sorry she died." Henry said.

"Life is difficult sometimes." Fred offered with a shrug. "Little girls die of terrible diseases, and good women nearly get killed by bombs. It isn't right, but it happens nonetheless."

"And the world still needs good men to watch out for them." Henry offered.

"I can't do my job if I'm too connected."

"She depends on you, Fred." Henry argued. "_I_ depend on you. I feel safer knowing you are there. You are a good agent."

"I can't be a good agent and care." Fred explained. "You know that. It's the first thing you learn."

"I understand why they teach it, but I'm not sure I agree any more. I mean, I care about her. Do you think I'd fail to protect her?" He raised his eyebrows in question.

"No." Fred admitted. "It's like having an extra agent around when you travel with us."

"Maybe it's too painful? Too familiar?" Henry offered. "I can respect that."

"No. I like that part - in a strange way it comforts me - I can imagine the woman she would've grown to become if she had survived."

"She trusts you, and it's hard for her to trust people in this city. _I _trust you." He said pointedly. "I'm trusting you with her right now."

"The last Secretary of State died under my watch." Fred offered.

"Not under your watch. Secretary Marsh left you behind - refused your protection."

"How did you know about that?" Fred asked, surprised. Marsh had specifically left Fred behind - had told him to his face that he wasn't going.

"It doesn't matter." Henry said. "You wouldn't do that with her - even if she tried to leave you behind."

"No, sir."

"Alright, then." Henry said with a smile. "You've run out of excuses. So, I guess it's settled then?"

"Sir, I still . . ."

Henry offered his hand to Fred, who was clearly flustered. "Shake my hand, Fred. Promise me you'll stay. You don't _want_ the transfer - you just think you _should_ have it. Keep an eye on her for me and make sure she doesn't do anything too crazy."

Fred found himself reaching out, and shaking Dr. McCord's hand. "I'll do my best, Dr. McCord."

"Well, how could I ask for more than that?" Henry smiled at him. "And I thought we agreed on Henry, not Dr. McCord."

"Decorum." Fred offered with a grin. "We have to at least act the parts."

Henry's face broke into a wide smile. "I suppose you are right, Agent Cole."

He crossed the room to go to Elizabeth, feeling better than he had when he'd open the email from Agent Fred Cole, two days ago. Elizabeth was still holding court with her staff just outside the small office.

Fred called out after him, "We should be ready to board in twenty minutes. I'll have her back home next week."

"I'm counting on it."

Henry crossed to where Elizabeth stood, a file stuffed with papers in one hand, her glasses perched on the edge of her nose.

"This is the latest email?" She was asking Nadine.

"Just this morning. No major changes. It looks like everything is in place." Nadine nodded and smiled at Henry who reached out, and took hold of Elizabeth's arm.

"Pardon me," He said to her staff. "Madam Secretary, may I have a word with you in private?" He didn't wait for answer but rather, taking her by the arm led her inside the small office just behind her, kicking the door shut with his foot.

"Henry, I'm trying to . . ." He took the file out of her hand, and gently removed her glasses, setting both on the small desk in the back of the room.

"I'm trying to kiss you a few more times before I have to put you on that damn plane." He said leaning in and doing just that. "I'm not gonna lie, Lizzie." He said pulling her in tight against his chest. "I'm scared as hell, and you better take my calls whenever you can. I'm gonna need to hear the sound of your voice, babe."

"Okay." She said quietly, her voice muffled against his chest.

"Good." He pulled back so he could see her face, and recognized that she was probably just as scared as he was. He reached out with a gentle finger, lifting her chin so that she could meet his eyes. "Hey, darlin' nothing to worry about - just an out of town trip. Happens all the time with lots of working moms. No big deal. Just our ordinary life."

"Right." She agreed laughing, despite the tears that shimmered unshed in her bright blue eyes.

"I'll manage the kids for awhile, you negotiate world peace, and next week, I'll completely destroy you at scrabble again."

"It's a date. But Henry, you always lose." She smiled up at him, and he tried to convince himself that this was no big deal - just another trip. One tear had managed to escape and he brushed it away with his thumb, leaning in for a kiss.

"You cheat and make up words, Liz." He told her. "But I love you anyway."

They were kissing still, when Nadine knocked at the door to tell them the plane was ready. They stepped apart, their eyes still locked on one another.

"I'll see you next week." She told him softly, reaching for the door.

"Sure." He said trying to make his voice sound confident. She stepped out of the room, but he stayed in the door watching her go; holding his breath.


	13. Chapter 13

The heat was relentless during the day, but she found herself shivering as soon as the sun began to fade. She was thankful to return to the small room they had provided her with. She could bundle up and get some sleep. After three days of meetings and negotiations, she was fairly exhausted. Nadine had disappeared earlier - the bright afternoon sun proving to be too much for the fair-skinned press secretary. Blake followed her back to her room, with a young private named, Alexander hovering nearby.

"You just have the meeting in the morning tomorrow, and then a dinner in the evening." Blake told her. Even in the relentless heat of the desert, Blake seemed cool and composed.

"How is it you aren't sweating?" She asked him for the hundredth time since they'd arrived.

"Genetics. No one in my family sweats." Blake explained with a shrug. "We are above such things."

She laughed at this, glad for the break in the seriousness of the last few days. Blake was a model assistant - efficient, calm, effective and sensitive enough to her moods to know when she wanted to be left alone or needed a laugh without being overly personal.

"Well, I wouldn't have believed you if we weren't standing together in the desert." She said smiling at him.

"Ma'am?" Private Alexander leaned in toward them. "Will you be needing anything else tonight?"

"No, thank you, private." She was constantly stunned at how very _young_ these soldiers seemed. "We have the meeting at 9 a.m and then a dinner around 7 p.m. A bit of a slow day for you tomorrow."

"For us both." He said with a smile. "But I was wondering . . ."

"Secretary McCord was just going into her room." Blake said, taking a half step in front of her.

"That's alright, Blake." She turned to the private. "What is it?"

"Well, my cousin is stationed just about twenty minutes from here. And I know how much they appreciate it when someone takes the time to remember them." He looked up at her with wide eyes. He had dark hair and dark eyebrows and something about him reminded her of Ali.

"Is it secure?" She asked.

"Ma'am. They left that window of time tomorrow so that you could rest and . . ." Blake interrupted.

"It's only twenty minutes away." She pointed out. "I'll have plenty of time to rest."

"Madam Secretary!" Private Alexander broke into a wide smile. "You can't know how much it means when someone from command looks in on us. Sometimes it seems that we are forgotten out here."

"See what you can do to set it up." She told him, trying not to think about how Henry would react to this added trip.

"Yes, ma'am." He said nodding his head. "Thank you for even considering it." He dashed away with a salute and she stood where she was avoiding looking directly at Blake.

"Well," Blake said after a long silence.

"I think I'll turn in." She said nervously.

"I'll go talk to Fred." He said with a resigned sigh.

He left her and she slipped inside the small room. She slipped out of her shoes before the door was even closed and changed, wrapping herself in an old Marine sweatshirt that she had stolen from Henry long ago. She sat at the desk, wishing that they had better internet connection, but the odds of being able to talk to Henry or the children were slim. They would be heading back in three days and she was grateful that this trip would soon be over. The business of the work kept her mind from any fears or worries that threatened her when she was alone at night. The first two nights they had stayed at a different compound and they slept in a small barracks - Nadine, and Daisy with her. The first night there, she had awoken with Nadine shaking her shoulder, concern etched on her face.

"Ma'am? Ma'am?" She had said softly. "Wake up."

"Did something happen?" She asked, suddenly wide awake.

"No, ma'am. You were . . ." Nadine hesitated, clearly embarrassed. "You were calling out in your sleep."

"Oh." Elizabeth felt her face flush with color. "I'm sorry for waking you." She glanced across the room, but Daisy appeared to be asleep.

"She sleeps like the dead." Nadine told her. "Nothing wakes her up."

"Oh, well, thank you for waking me. I'm sorry."

"No, need for apologies." Nadine had said with a soft smile. "I wasn't asleep. It's cold in here."

"It is." She agreed.

"Good night, Madam Secretary." Nadine crossed the small barracks and climbed back into the bunk where she'd been sleeping.

"Good night." She had wanted to correct her, and tell her that she ought to call her Elizabeth, but somehow the title was comforting - as though she were still firmly in control.

When they had come here, she had been grateful to see that she would have a private room. At least if she woke up from a nightmare, she would be alone. She sighed and reached for the stack of paperwork on the desk. Sliding her glasses onto her face, she turned her attention back to the work at hand. She was thankful for the progress they'd made but deep down she wanted to be back home listening to the sweet familiar sounds of her children's voices as Henry sat beside her.

***MS***

"Madame Secretary?" Blake approached her just outside her room first thing the next morning.

"Good morning, Blake." She said smiling at him, despite the fact that she hadn't had a cup of coffee yet.

"Good morning." He said, handing her a cup. She immediately relaxed into a wide grin.

"I'm developing a tremendous fondness for you, Blake." She told him.

"Yes, ma'am." He nodded crisply at her. "Everything is set for your visit. The can only let us take a small group, so both Nadine and Daisy will stay behind with Jay."

"You're coming along?" She asked with raised eyebrows.

"Well, I've never trekked across the desert in a humvee so this should be a bit a cultural expedition for me." He explained.

"Indeed." She took a sip of coffee. "We can test your inability to sweat to the fullest extent. And what was Agent Cole's reaction to this little trip?"

"Ma'am, if possible, I'd avoid him this morning." Blake told her, his brows furrowed in seriousness.

"Probably a good idea."

"Now, is there anything in particular we need to prepare for this trip?" He asked.

"There is one thing." She told him. "I'm going to need a pair of boots."

***MS***

Henry McCord looked up from his stack of papers as the early morning sun slanted through the large windows of his office. It was Wednesday which was one of his longest days. He had three lectures and office hours. He was grateful that Stevie would be home when Ali and Jason got out of school. It was hard to be grateful for Stevie choosing to withdraw from college, but times like now, when it seemed that there jobs were conspiring to complicate their lives, he was. He glanced at his watch. It was ten minutes until 9 a.m. which meant it was nearly 8:00 p.m. in Afghanistan. He sighed, Tuesday seemed a very long way off.

He had been able to speak with Elizabeth four times since she'd left, and every time, just the very sound of her voice sent his entire body tingling. He understood that she had to travel. She had always had to travel for work, but somehow he'd never really adjusted to it. He felt lonesome and out of sorts whenever she was gone. He recognized that this feeling was magnified a hundredfold because of the recent bombing. He hoped that she had stayed inside the compound. He hoped that things were safe.

He sighed gathering his things, ready to make the trek across the quad to his first morning lecture.

***MS***

The smallest size boot that Blake had been able to find had been a men's nine. He had handed them to her saying, "You've got surprisingly small feet for someone your height."

And she wondered just how much information her assistant kept filed away in his brain about her. It occurred to her that once when they were caught in an unexpected rainstorm in London, he'd dashed into a store returning with a new raincoat for her. It had fit perfectly. Blake was a very good assistant but sometimes he unnerved her.

Now, she was attempting to walk gracefully around Firebase Wilderness, but it wasn't easy in the boots. She realized she probably would be better able to make a run for it, as Henry had suggested, in her heels. The sun was piercingly hot again, and she could feel her sun beginning to burn. She glanced over at Blake, who true to his declarations, appeared to be as cool as ever - no signs that the heat was well over 100 degrees.

She understood how important it would be to visit the base, but looking at the soldiers had filled her with a deep sorrow - as it always did. They were all so young. She could easily imagine them sitting around a coffee shop with Stevie. Many of their faces reminded her of Stevie's high school friends who had hung around the farm. It frightened her to think that so many young lives were being consumed by the never-ending complex world of the Middle East.

"Ma'am, we should head back soon." Fred said to her, startling her out of her thoughts.

His voice held a tension to it, and she knew it was because they had already stayed an hour longer than originally scheduled. Her late afternoon of rest had been swallowed up by talking to and shaking the hands of as many soldiers as possible. She was dressed in khakis, a white button down shirt and the combat boots of course, but she stood out among the gritty soldiers almost as if she were wearing an evening gown. They were drawn to her, and she was hard-pressed to leave them.

"Yes." She agreed. "I'm sorry, Fred. They are all just so . . ."

"Yes, Madam Secretary, but a base like-this isn't nearly as secure. We should get back so that you can work on making some policies that will change all this." He made a broad sweep of his hand.

"I'm surprised that you haven't been tapped for The Company." She said smiling up at him. "You are a very good manipulator."

"Who's to say I haven't been?" Fred grinned at her. "Or perhaps I've spent too much time around you, ma'am."

They were heading toward the waiting vehicles when suddenly it seemed that all hell had broken loose. Soldier's were running everywhere, and within minutes, they saw five fighters take off.

"Madam Secretary!" Captain Edwards, who had been escorting them around base said. "This way please. Let's get you inside a tent." They followed him into a nearby tent where several soldiers were communicating on radios.

"What's going on?" Fred asked.

"Nothing here, but both Firebase Tinsley and Phoenix were just bombed. We are seeing what we can do to get you out of here." He told them.

"What about the conference?" Agent Cole asked.

"They are secure and already on their way to Ramisten. We are trying to do the same for you here, but we haven't got much right now to spare. We might have to take you by helicopter to Bagram, and fly you out there."

"Helicopter!" Fred said in surprise. "That hardly seems safe."

"It's a hell of a lot safer than sticking around here to see if we're next." He turned to Elizabeth. "Madam Secretary, we truly appreciate your visit today, but we've got to get you out of here. Some of the boys posted a note about you being here - strictly against orders. If word gets out that we've got a high ranking official on base, they will come for us."

Elizabeth nodded her head. "Were there any embedded reporters on those bases? Has word reached the U.S.?" She asked him.

"Madam Secretary, there's no way we can contact him just now. It would just be one more way for them to learn about you being here." Fred told her. He turned to Captain Edwards. "Do whatever you need to do. Let's get her someplace safe."

***MS***

By the time they reached Bagram, darkness had fallen. They had flown by helicopter over the desert in silence - too weary, too nervous to even speak. Watching the desert fade behind her, Elizabeth found it hard not to think of all the faces that she had just seen and knowing that they were heading off to do battle. Maybe they would come back; maybe not. She tried to imagine Henry here and was grateful that she didn't have as much information then, as she did now. She wouldn't have slept a single night when he was gone if she had known how truly treacherous the desert was. It didn't matter that it was two decades later. Henry was right, the desert never changed.

The quiet calm of Bagram AFB was a contrast to all they'd been through. Everyone else was already on their way to Germany - the next stop in their journey home, so it was just Blake and Fred who sat waiting with her as they arranged a plane to fly home. They sat in a small office that housed a desk, some chairs and two tvs. She'd tried, without success, to reach Henry, hoping that he hadn't seen anything about the bombings. She was tired and felt gritty from the rush through the desert, the front of her khakis were white with salt. She turned to Blake.

"You've got a stain on your shirt." She told him, surprised to see it. "You do sweat!"

"Well, how embarrassing." He actually blushed. "You won't mention this to anyone, will you?"

"Would your family disown you?" She asked.

"My father might have some questions for my mother, if he knew." Blake grinned at her. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. "What time is it?"

"Just about 8:30." She answered. "Which makes it, hmm, 11 a.m. yesterday back home? Is it Thursday?"

"It is." Blake said. "So it's Wednesday there."

"Henry's got classes all day." She leaned back in the chair, her eyes on the screen above them. It repeated images of the bases, thick with black smoke. "He won't watch the news until tonight. We should be able to contact him by then."

"Where did Fred go?" She glanced behind her.

"They pulled him out to go over details." Blake answered. "Are you hungry? You haven't eaten since breakfast. I'm sure I could stir up some food."

"No. I'm fine, but thank you, Blake." She closed her eyes briefly, leaning back in the chair again. She had nearly drifted to sleep when a single word from the tv above her shocked her into immediate wakefulness. She jumped to her feet, her eyes on the screen above her.

"What?" Blake asked.

The news had cycled back around to matters outside the Middle East and she heard the anchor say again, "Just to confirm what we reported earlier, there has been a shooting on the campus of Georgetown University. At this time, we do not know the identity of the gunman, or if the shooter has been detained. Students have been tweeting from their door rooms and classrooms where they are currently in lock down. There have been several reports of shots fired, and people falling to the ground."

"Wh . . . where's . . . get . . .get . . ." She found speaking impossible, her heart hammering in her chest.

"He's got protection. No. He's got agents around him. He's fine ma'am." Blake said rising to stand beside her.

"He refused protection." Fred said gently stepping into the room. "He only has agents when the children or Secretary McCord is with him."

"What do you know?" She said spinning around to face Fred.

"Nothing more than they do, ma'am. The news is just coming in now." He told her.

"It's a big university." Blake offered. "He's probably . . ."

She lifted a shaking arm, pointing to the screen, and Blake was stunned to see tears rolling down her face. "No. That's . . . that's . . . his office."

It was live shot. You could see the members of the SWAT team attempting to surround the building. Even Blake recognized it now. He lifted a hand, reaching out to hold her by the arm. He felt her whole body trembling.

"The plane is ready." Agent Cole told her. "We should go now."

"But . . but . . .what . . ."

"They can give me information in the air, ma'am. Let's go. We need to get you home." Agent Cole nodded at Blake, who began to gently pull her away from the tv and toward the waiting plane. They led her out of the office, and toward the large C-17 that waited for them. It was filled with soldiers and medical personnel. Blake led her to a seat and she sat down wordlessly. Her blue eyes blank of any expression.

"Your seatbelt, ma'am." He said to her, but she appeared not to hear him. He hesitated, and then glancing around, reached around her, buckling the seat. "There you go." He tried to sound nonchalant. "I'm just going to sit over there. Fred's up front. He's going to see what information he can get. We'll be in Germany soon." He told her. "Then you can call him."

She nodded her head. Her face white with fear and shock, and then, to his utter and complete amazement, she turned to the soldier beside her, and asked, "You are going home? Where are you from?"

The young man beside her had several bandages, and his leg was in a cast.

"I'm from Alabama, ma'am." He told her. "I'll be in Germany a bit though. I've got to have surgery there, but they said that my Mama is flying out to meet me there."

Blake fell back into his seat exhausted and completely stunned. He buckled himself into his seat, and felt the rumble of the giant plane as it lifted up and away from the violent desert below them, but even when they plane roared and shook making its way through turbulence, his eyes never left the United States Secretary of State; awed by her inner strength.

***AUTHOR'S NOTE ***

_I was a little bit slower to update. This has been a really tough week for us. I am a school teacher at a tightly united public school, and last weekend our fellow teacher died suddenly. I wasn't able to write, and feel that this chapter might not be as strong as it could be - any errors are my fault - obviously. I really appreciate the reviews and thoughtful comments left by readers. I'm excited that the show will return next week. It seems like it's been such a LONG break. Wishing you all peace and happiness!_


	14. Chapter 14

After the intense heat of the desert, Germany was cold. She stood hesitating at the top of the stairs that led from the plane to the tarmac. The wind felt harsh and biting, and she shivered, wishing that Henry were beside her, a warm arm over her shoulders.

"Ma'am," Blake said into her ear.

She moved forward numbly, hardly even noticing the relentless popping of flashbulbs in her face. She turned toward Blake.

"Why is there press?"

"They heard about the bombings." He explained.

"Bombings?" Her voice rose in pitch.

"At the Afghan bases, ma'am." He explained patiently.

She tried to remember Afghanistan but her brain felt slow and sluggish. It seemed the only thing she could remember was the sound of Henry laughing, and the feel of his hand resting on her hip. They crossed the icy tarmac and she was thankful for the ridiculously oversized boots. She was surprised to be greeted by her staff when they entered a small room. She had expected that they were already on a flight back to Washington.

"Madam Secretary!" Nadine rose from where she'd been seated behind a computer. "We are so relieved to see you."

"I wasn't in any danger." She responded.

"It didn't feel that way." Daisy said. "The internet was buzzing with concern." She held up her phone, a bright smile on her face.

She stared at Daisy for two, slow, long blinks trying somehow to formulate words to express her fury at the ridiculousness of her statement. Fortunately, Blake stepped between them.

"I don't think now is the best time to . . ." He put an arm around Daisy walking her away. Their voices a quiet whisper while the rest of the room was filled with awkward silence.

Her fear and anguish over Henry, was clouding her ability to read the room - to read people. But it slowly dawned on her.

They were all trying to avoid telling her something. She swallowed hard, and then turned to the one person she knew would be the easiest target.

"Nadine," She kept her voice even, sounding strangely harsh, "What aren't you telling me?"

***MS***

Three steps out of his office, he felt it. Felt something was wrong. A student rushed into the hall past him, her face white with fear. He had half-turned toward her to ask what was wrong, but then heard commotion not far from where he stood. Looking up, he could see people in the distance - some of them running. Another student rushed past him, looking equally terrified, and as he passed Henry he said, "Run! Get inside!"

He took another step forward, narrowing his eyes, and adjusting his vision to the bright outdoor sunlight. An odd thought flitted through his brain, _What a beautiful day!_ And then he saw it in the distance. A young man dressed all in black, a black woollen ski hat covering his face except for eye and mouth holes. He immediately recognized the weapon in his hands. And wondered briefly where a kid could get a hold of an AK. He knew he ought to dash back inside and call authorities. He knew that trying to manage a crazy situation would probably only get himself killed. He understood down to his bones that if went after the kid, Liz would be pissed as hell - probably for all eternity. But he was a trained soldier, and had been a damn good one. He'd probably be a soldier still if it weren't for Liz and the kids. It wasn't that Liz had ever asked him to quit, but rather that he had recognized the impossibility of being a warrior _and_ a father; of being a man of words _and_ a man of weapons. It became too difficult to manage the two, and he recognized that something had to give. It had been much too difficult to merge the life of the soldier with the life of husband and father. He had seen enough marriages around him disintegrate, and he couldn't comprehend the anguish of life without Lizzie beside him. For him, the choice had been obvious. Yet now, here was the old dilemma right in front of him. Who was he? Soldier? Father? Teacher?

He dropped down low, hiding behind a brick planter that housed several trees. Henry McCord was all of those things, and despite his wife's righteous fury, he knew what he had to do. _If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor._ Hadn't he just told Ali that? He watched, his eyes narrowing to slits, his brain already pushing thoughts of Ali, Stevie, Jason, and Liz to the background, as he assessed the situation. He was cautiously waiting to strike.

***MS***

Stevie McCord opened the front door, surprised to see Alicia from their security detail standing in the doorway. She opened her mouth to speak, panic immediately flooding her body when she heard her little sister's voice behind her.

"You aren't supposed to come inside! Why is she . . ."

"Take it easy, Ali." Stevie said, trying to balance her irritation and compassion. "Let her talk."

"I was thinking about what you asked me about, Stevie." Alicia began, and for a half-second Stevie had been utterly confused. She hadn't asked Alicia about anything. Then suddenly she understood.

"About the party?" Stevie asked. She was amazed that Alicia gave no reaction. She just smiled.

"Yes. We can talk now, if you like?" Alicia's warm smile, did nothing to calm the terror that was flooding Stevie's system.

"Oh, my God!" Ali groaned. "Mom's in the middle of the desert and you are trying to set up some stupid party! You are so selfish!" She stormed back upstairs.

"I'm sorry." Alicia said, after she'd left. "We can tell her you are planning a party for your Mom." She offered, but Stevie just shook her head. Her little sister thinking she was a selfish jerk was the least of her problems.

"What's going on?" Stevie tried to keep her voice low.

"Let's go in the study." Alicia said. Stevie followed her and sat at her father's desk. Alicia closed both doors to the room, and turned toward her.

"Your mom is fine."

Stevie exhaled slowly, tears in the corner of her eyes. "Then why . . ."

"She's on her way home. There were bombings at some of the bases, and so we thought it best to get her out now."

"Oh, good." She glanced at the picture of her mother that sat on the corner of her father's desk. "Dad will be so . . .wait, why are you telling _me_ this? Why isn't Dad?"

"Hey!" Jason's voice called from upstairs. "The internet is down!"

"Tell him, you already called and they are working on it." Alicia's face was serious, and Stevie felt all sense of peace fall away.

"Yeah, I know. I called. They are working on it!" She called back to him. She turned back to face Alicia. "Tell me what is going on. Right now!"

"There was a problem at Georgetown." Alicia began gently.

***MS***

At least three more students had run past Henry McCord and into the building. He was hopeful that at least one of them had thought to call 911. He had made his way along the planter and across the open space between the buildings, and was now hunkered down behind a large bush. He was almost directly behind the troubled boy. He was sure it was a boy. His thin arms trembled as he hefted the heavy weapon.

Henry was in a good position to rush him, but the boy's movements were erratic and unpredictable. He kept swinging around in wild circles, pointing his gun and firing from time to time. If he rushed out at just the wrong moment, he would most certainly be shot. He could see one student lying just across the quad and didn't know if they had simply dropped flat to avoid being shot, or if they were hurt. What he did know was that he didn't have much time. The boy took a few more stumbling steps forward, and away from where Henry was hidden.

"Janeen!" He called out angrily. "Janeen!" He fired the weapon in a wide arc, and moved as if to run forward.

Henry realized that if he didn't act now the boy would take off in a run, and be gone. It wasn't really that he had much time to think. From the time he'd swung open the door to step out in the bright sunlight, until now, had been maybe two minutes, but his brain had switched over into that odd, familiar slow-motion of battle. Everything felt simultaneous like it had slowed to a near standstill and that everything was rushing past him.

"Janeen!" He called out again, and then took a stumbling step forward. Henry McCord rose from where he was hidden and rushed forward, his only thought the target in front of him.


	15. Chapter 15

Elizabeth McCord sat alone in the back of the spacious plane. Her staff was gathered on the opposite end. They kept their distance, and their voices low. Even Fred kept himself a few feet away. No one seemed to want to be anywhere near the Secretary of State. She was, therefore, surprised to look up and see Blake approaching her.

She said nothing; just tried to stare him down - her eyes fierce and jaw locked tight. Undeterred he sat in the chair across from her. He seemed, as ever, cool and calm.

"You draw the short stick?" She asked, her voice tight with bitterness and anger.

"Yes, ma'am." He answered agreeably. "Or perhaps, I'm the one who's most concerned." He said it as a question, and with a slight grin, and despite her mood, Elizabeth had to nod in appreciation at his bravery and bold wit.

"You are a brave man, Blake." She observed.

"You aren't as scary as they think." He said.

"They all think I'm heartless. I know." She shook her head. "Daisy thinks . . ."

"Daisy doesn't understand." He shrugged his shoulders.

"So, why did they send you into the lion's den? There isn't anything _else_ I need to hear about, is there?" Her blue eyes grew huge.

"Nothing like that, ma'am. You know everything already." He told her. "We are setting up the call in your office." He indicated the small office on the plane just behind her. "It should come through in about ten minutes."

"Why did it take so long?" She asked numbly.

Here, Blake actually looked afraid, and he hesitated. "Well, they had to do a debriefing and . . ."

"Medical examination." She added, nodding her head. She sat back in her seat, rubbing her face with her hand. Exhaling she looked down at her arm.

"Who's jacket am I wearing?" She asked, suddenly aware that she was wrapped in a man's coat.

"Mine." He offered with a shrug. "You couldn't stop shaking."

"Oh." She moved to take it off, but Blake held up a hand.

"That's alright ma'am. You don't have to . . ."

"It's fine." She said handing him the coat. "Daisy and Nadine brought my things from the base, remember?"

"Oh." He looked down at the coat in his hands, an odd look of disappointment on his face.

"Blake?"

"Well, I was just hoping you would have it dry cleaned, first. I don't sweat, but you . . ."

She laughed out loud at this, a hand reaching out to swipe at him. "Send me the bill, after we get home." She told him. "I'll cover it."

He smiled at her. "I don't mean to offend. I just don't know the effects of sweat on clothes. Will dry cleaning be effective?"

"Don't push it, Blake." She shook a finger at him.

"The call will be ready in a few minutes, ma'am." He said rising, taking the coat with him.

"Yes. Thank you." He turned to leave but she called to him. "Blake?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Thank you for being so . . . You understand, don't you? It's not that I am heartless like they think." He began to protest but she continued anyway. "I _am_ relieved. You can't know how . . ." She paused, unable to continue for a moment. "But it's really . . ."

"No one doubts your connection to each other ma'am." He said politely. He paused in thought. "It has been one of the most unique things about you - people in Washington aren't married - not _really_."

"It's just . . ." She paused her bright blue eyes, brimming with unshed tears. She swallowed, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to . . ." She rose and turned to go to her office. "Thank you, Blake. I'll be in my office."

"Yes, ma'am." He gave a nod and continued up to the front of the plane where her staff huddled together.

***MS***

"Liz, I'm sorry." These were the first words out of Henry McCord's mouth when he heard the phone line click through to her plane. "I'm really sorry."

She said nothing, and for a moment he wasn't even sure she was there - maybe she'd refused his call. "Honey? I know it was stupid. I'm really sorry." He figured he'd just keep repeating this sentence for the next year or so, and hope it all fell back into place. He paused straining his ears, and then he heard a slight sound; the familiar tiny hiccup she made whenever she actually broke down and cried - really cried. Suddenly, he felt like he'd been socked in the gut. She rarely cried, and he hated that there was an ocean between them now. He hated that he had _caused _her tears.

"Babe, hey, I'm fine." He told her, and then repeated again. "I'm so sorry."

She still said nothing and it frustrated him that he couldn't tell if it was furry, anguish or both. _Probably both_, he thought to himself. "Lizzie?"

"You . . .you . . ." He swallowed hard, at the sound of her voice, teary and weak. Still, relief washed over him. _At least she was talking_. "Didn't you think about us? About me?"

He sighed. She was pissed. He couldn't blame her. He'd feel the same way. He'd _felt_ the same way - she'd reached out with her thin arm to drag the ambassador along with her - knowing it would've have slowed her down. If Fred hadn't stepped between them . . .

"Hey, you know CNN is calling me a National Hero." He said, suddenly and surprisingly angry with her. "One kid was shot. One. And they say she's going to recover fully."

"Remind me to throw you a red, white and blue party then." She said bitterly.

"Liz . . ."

"And what the hell, Henry? You are trying to guilt me? Thanks. I really appreciate that." She paused, remembering to lower her voice.

Just before she'd stepped into the office to take his call Fred had said, "Remember, ma'am that office isn't soundproof." His voice had been gentle, as had been his hand on her arm. Her staff was already confused enough by her reaction to learning that Henry was indeed fine, and had single-handedly tackled the gunman, saving countless lives.

"I'm sorry . . ." He said again. "I just . . .Liz, you would've done the same."

"No." She said after considering his words. "Maybe, maybe before Stevie, but not now - not without a weapon. There's no way in hell I'd risk so much."

He sighed again, loudly, wishing that she was here in front of him. He hated not being able to see her face. Her voice didn't always convey what she really thought or felt. It wasn't that she was deceitful, but rather, she had trained herself to be cautious - she understood that everyone was reading into every word she said. Her body language was carefully crafted, too, but he could see behind it; knew the real emotions she hid from everyone. If she stood ramrod straight, her jawline tight - she gave the appearance of confident strength, but only he knew it was an act; carefully crafted to bolster herself until she could get alone and cry, or scream or whatever.

"Babe, I just couldn't . . . I was there, and he didn't see me. And I could _do_ something. He was gonna kill all those kids and ruin so many lives. I just couldn't stand idly by - I mean anyone of those girls could've been Stevie."

"Don't you dare! Don't use our children as an . . .you weren't thinking of her! Don't lie, Henry. You were glad for a chance to play the hero again. You loved being a good soldier - making everyone proud."

"Hey! Knock it off, Liz!" He met her anger half-way. "Don't trivialize my career like that. You know I never took any of it lightly, and I'm not gonna tolerate you being so . . ." His hands were balled into fists; his frustration at the distance between them growing with every minute. "I never once played the parent card with you. Not once." He said bitterly. "Even when I knew you were pregnant with Stevie and no one else did. So don't try and make me feel guilty."

He heard her let out a long sigh and could picture her gripping the phone tight in her thin fingers, her knuckles white. "I wish I were home." She said softly, an aching longing in her tone, and he had to sit down, his knees suddenly weak at the sound of her sorrow. "I'm sorry, Henry. I don't know why . . ."

"Don't apologize. I mean you are right. I acted like a jackass."

"CNN says you are an American Treasure." She offered, and he found himself smiling through tears.

"Babe, I am sorry." He said again.

"Me, too." She paused. "I love you, Henry. And I could never . . ." But the rest of the sentence was swallowed in tears.

"Hey, no. I'm fine." He offered softly.

"What about your arm?" She asked.

"Oh, well that's broken." He answered.

"Henry. . ." It came out a strangled whisper, all anger washed away, leaving behind only aching sorrow.

"Listen to my voice, babe. You can _hear_ that I'm alright. You'll be home in another," he glanced at the clock beside him. "Six hours. You can see for yourself. I'm okay, Lizzie. And I am very sorry, I did think of you. I did, but I had to do _something._ Sweetheart, you know I had to do something."

"'If you are neutral in situations of injustice,'" she managed to choke out.

"Hey, babe, stop crying. C'mon sweetheart." He said at the sound of her sobs. "Kick it back to anger. I was a jackass, remember?" He felt completely helpless.

"Don't bully me, Henry." She managed in a weak voice.

"Not even possible." He answered. A moment of long silence settled between them until he asked, "Where are you?"

"Somewhere over the ocean . . ."

"No. On the plane. Where are you?"

"Oh, the office."

"At the desk?"

"Yes."

"Listen, go over and lie down on that couch. You sound so tired honey."

"Stay on the phone." Her voice held an edge of desperation.

"'Course darlin'." His voice suddenly husky. She was _never_ this compliant and dependent.

"Okay," she said. "I'm on the couch."

"Lie down, and close your eyes." She started to protest, but he continued, "I'll keep talking."

"Just like when Stevie was two and refused to sleep." She said and he smiled at the memory. Their headstrong firstborn protesting the inequality between child versus adult bedtimes.

"That seems like it was last week, doesn't it?" He said wonderingly.

"Henry, I'm sorry I was so . . ." Her voice was softer now.

"Hey, Lizzie, it's fine. You've every right to be pissed as hell at me! I knew you would be. Don't apologize. I'm the one who rushed out and nearly got myself . . ." He sighed, suddenly exhausted. He settled back into the pillows behind him where he lay in their bedroom. The bed felt empty without her beside him. He tried to picture her, stretched out on the couch on the plane, wishing he could put his arms around her; wishing he could feel the familiar rhythm of her heart as held her close to his chest.

"Henry?" Her voice sounded sleepy.

"Yeah, babe?"

"I love . . ." But she was crying again before she finished the sentence.

"I love you, too." He managed, a hand covering his eyes. "Lizzie May," he said very gently, "Stop your crying."

"Don't call me that!"

He smiled at the expected protest, feeling himself relax. "Now, I'm going to tell you all about my new chapter, and you can say 'mm hmm' and 'uh huh' but you don't even have to pretend to listen to my words. Just focus on the sound of my voice, okay?"

"It's what I usually do."

He laughed at this expected response. Grateful that she sounded stronger and more like herself.

"Thata girl." He waited for to protest and when she didn't he continued. " I wanted to start this one with a story - a different approach so remember that story about the magpie? Well, I . . ."

"Henry?" She interrupted sleepily.

"What sweetheart?"

"I'll be mad again later, you know."

"I know."

"Okay, tell me the story."

It was so like Liz. She always had to have things clear and settled.

"I know, baby." His voice was gentle. "No one knows you like, I do."

"Henry," he could hear tears again. "Not now. I can't. . . Tell me about the crow."

"Magpie." He corrected. "Close your eyes. Now, one day in late fall a farmer was . . ."


	16. Chapter 16

The best thing about Camp David, was the staff. Jason McCord had discovered that the staff wanted nothing more than to see him happy. He wasn't sure if it was always like this, or, because of his parents recent brushes with danger, but he just knew if he asked for an ice cream sundae, someone would rush to make it. He was sitting at the table with a plate of fresh, homemade french fries. Margaret, one of the cooks, hovered near his elbow.

"Do you want some ranch sauce? I could whip up a batch, no problem." Her dark eyes were wide with concern.

"No, thank you. Ketchup is fine." He told her. "Thank you."

"You let me know if you want anything else." She smiled at him, and then turned to return to the kitchen.

"Really?" Stevie said sitting beside him, and reaching for a fry. "You are terrible."

"She wants me to feel better." He said with a shrug.

"Does she know you're twelve - not six?"

"I can't help it if I look younger than I am." He answered taking a bit of the fries.

"You wanna go for a hike later?" She asked settling back in the chair, watching him eat.

"Why?"

"I don't, Jason. We are in the middle of a beautiful forest with hiking trails?" Laughing, she shook her head at him. "I'm bored and restless."

"What's Ali doing?" He asked.

"Reading. I would've thought she'd run out of books by now."

"Peter went into town to get her some more." He told her with a grin.

"You two are ridiculous."

"No, Stevie, your problem is you are letting your sense of independence get in the way of the benefits of Mom's job." He told her. "They feel sorry for us and want to make us feel better, so who are we to deny them that?"

"It would take more than fries to make me feel better." She said rising and pausing to ruffle his hair. "I'm going for a hike if anyone asks."

He watched her go, feeling suddenly homesick and sad. He set the french fry in his hand back down. It wasn't the house in the city he longed for - he felt a sudden longing for the horse farm, and his mom restlessly thinking up things to create - trying to burn up all her energy. She would decide to refurbish an old table, or build a pond or paint the old playhouse and convert into a media room. She was always doing something. He would be asleep on a Saturday morning, and awake to find her poking him in his ribs. "C'mon sleepy head. Let's go for a ride." She would say, and they would get up early and ride up into the hills, and have breakfast watching the sunrise. He had been supremely annoyed at the time, but he missed it; longed for it with all his heart.

He pushed the plate away from himself and inwardly cursed Stevie for spoiling his mood. It was always better not to think too much. Why did she have to do that? He was perfectly content with his plate of fries and now all he could think of was the way his mother had sobbed in his father's arms when she'd returned home. He'd never seen her like that so frightened and looking so small.

Overwhelmed, he rose quickly to see if he could catch Stevie. He didn't want to spend the afternoon sitting alone with a stupid plate of french fries thinking about the images of his father being escorted away from danger by a SWAT team, or the endless loop of the grainy video of him rushing toward a crazy kid with a gun in his hand. Pushing open the door he was surprised to see Stevie sitting on the steps.

"Ready, kid?" She asked, rising.

"Yeah." He followed her down the steps, and didn't push her away when she wrapped an arm over his shoulders.

***MS***

Elizabeth was asleep and had been asleep for hours which was a miracle. He rose from the bed, stretching his tired muscles and once again forgetting about the heavy cast on his arm. The weight of it threw him off balance, and he nearly fell out of bed, feeling embarrassed even though there was no one to see it.

Glancing over at the clock, he saw that it was nearly eleven. He couldn't think of a single time since he'd known Elizabeth that she'd slept past seven. He couldn't help but smile down at her. She looked so peaceful, curled in sleep, her face free of any worries, or sorrows. Still, even sleeping, he could see how thin she was - how thin she'd become since the bombings. She never had an ounce of fat to spare, so skipping meals due to stress, showed up on her almost immediately. He made a mental not to make sure she ate at least three times today - dessert with every meal, too.

He slid on his sweats and wandered out to the family living room, but found it empty. He went to the table that was loaded with coffee and pastries. The staff seemed to have the same goal he did - feed Elizabeth. He poured himself a cup of coffee and reached for a muffin before stepping out onto the wide front porch.

It was a fairly warm day, although, he regretted not grabbing a shirt when he saw Ali sitting under a tree, a book in her hand. He crossed the wet grass on bare feet. She was sitting on a blanket and glanced up at him, as he approached. Saying nothing he settled himself across from her.

"'Morning Noodle." He said taking a sip of coffee.

"Closer to lunch." She said glancing up from the book.

He tried to read the front cover, expecting it be one of her young-adult-girls-in-angst books, but was surprised to see she was reading a book about Plato.

"Interesting choice." He told her.

"Don't get excited. It's for school." She said without meeting his eyes.

"Still mad, I see."

"Dad . . ." She shook her head. "We already talked about it. I'm meeting _again_ with Dr. Mason this afternoon, alright? Just give me some time."

"Yeah." He sighed in frustration, feeling an unexpected wave of regret wash over him. Elizabeth's anger he had expected and prepared for, but he hadn't recognized that his children were old enough to be just as pissed at him for rushing headlong into danger. He didn't regret stopping the gunman, but he regretted deeply the pain it had brought his family.

"Stop." She said setting the book aside and reaching for his hand. "It's going to be fine."

"I know." He said amazed that time had sped by so rapidly. What happened to the tiny girl who studied the world around her with thoughtful dark eyes - trying to noodle through every problem and idea on her own. He'd remembered with fondness finding her trying desperately to cram a triangle into the round hole of a toy. When he'd pointed out that it should go into the matching hole, she'd looked at him with disdain, and put her tiny hand on her hip saying, "Daddy, babies can do _that._" He leaned forward kissing her brow, as she turned back to her book.

"Where is everyone?" He asked, slowly rising.

"Stevie and Jason went for a hike." She answered. "And Mom is generally with you."

"She's asleep still." He told her. He studied her thoughtfully. "You could read in our bed. I doubt you'd wake her." Suddenly realizing that she probably would appreciate the comforting nearness of her mother. The thought of the two of them snuggled together in bed, safe made him feel better about the havoc that he'd wrecked.

"You think?" She asked anxiously, but behind it, he could see the hopefulness in her eyes.

"Yeah, hon. It will be fine." He watched her as she fairly ran across the lawn and into the cabin.

Cabin. It was hard to think of these beautiful rooms as cabins. He'd been to camp as a boy, and Camp David was nothing like the small, stark rooms that he'd spent his summer days and nights. He lay back on the blanket and putting his arms behind his head stared up into the blue sky. He was looking up through the bright green leaves that seemed to become translucent as the sunlight poured down. The green of the trees, and the bright blue of the sky were beautiful and he tried to wipe everything else from his mind; Ali's angry glare, Stevie's silent tears, Jason's face white with shock and fear, and the sound of Elizabeth crying. It seemed to follow him everywhere. He closed his eyes trying not to remember anything but only to listen to the beating of his own heart.

***MS***

_Two days earlier_ . . .

Elizabeth McCord stood in the middle of the outer office, a file in her hand. She was completely still. Her brows were furrowed as she concentrated hard, desperately trying to remember why she was standing in the outer office, and why she had a file in her hand. Her mind was a complete blank, however.

"Madam Secretary?" Blake, who'd been away from his desk, approached. "Can I help you with something?"

She could tell from his soft inquisitive tone that he was worried, and handling her gently.

"No, I was just . . ." Her voice trailed away and she flapped an arm helplessly. "Well, I'll be in my office if you need me." She tried to keep her pace normal and even, but really she wanted to run inside and slam the door shut. Instead she carefully and quietly closed the door. Her heart was beating hard, and she looked at the papers in her hand, but found reading confusing. She threw the file on her desk, and lifted a hand to rub her forehead. She turned away from her desk, and stood at the window staring out.

It seemed minutes later that she was startled by a knocking at the door, but as she turned her head she was surprised to see that the city outside the window was dark. How long had she been standing here? Did she miss any meetings?

"Come in." She said at the insistent knocking, and Blake stepped apologetically into the room.

"I'm sorry Ma'am. It is just that the President is here to see you." He tried to sound nonchalant about it, but she could tell he was stressed.

"Oh, thank you, Blake." She said, straightening her skirt and trying to bring her thoughts back into focus, as the President strode into the room.

"Bess." He said smiling and reaching out to squeeze her hands.

"Mr. President." She said. "I wasn't expecting you."

"No, but I thought I should come by and see you. We haven't really talked since you came back from Afghanistan." He moved to sit in the chair in front of her desk and waved a hand toward her chair. She settled herself behind her desk.

"Yes, well I just came back to work yesterday."

"I know. Which brings me to why I'm here." He leaned forward. "You shouldn't be at work at all."

"I don't understand . . ." She began feeling suddenly anxious. "Have I . . ."

"It's too soon. My God! What was it six weeks ago that you barely survived that bomb and now Henry has decided to charge down some lunatic on national tv? No. You've got no business coming into the office." He shook his head.

"Henry's fine and my doctor cleared me weeks ago." She felt her temper rising.

"You look like a skeleton, Bess. You missed a budget meeting this morning, and when Russell asked you a question about Israel, you couldn't remember any of the numbers."

"I was just . . ."

"I've known you a long time, and never, and I mean not once, have you not pulled out whatever number you needed. You _always_ known your stuff. Always." He exhaled and leaned forward. "Bess, you look terrible."

"I'm just a little . . ."

"You aren't eating, and I don't think you are sleeping much either."

"Are you firing me?" She hated how small her voice sounded.

"God, no!" He boomed out. "Hiring you is the one smart thing I did. I should've ignored everyone and just brought you along with me in the first place. No. I'm not firing you. That question is proof you are out of sorts. Jesus, Bess. I can't believe you haven't socked me in the jaw for implying that you possess any weakness at all!" He gave a small chuckle. "No. I'm sending you to Camp David. Take Henry and the kids, and I order you to stay there for ten days."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand, rising as he did. "No, you aren't allowed to argue. I am the President of the United States and your boss. So, go home pack your bags, and get out of this city."

"Sir, I'm so . . ."

"If you dare to even consider apologizing, I'll lose all respect for you Bess." He said shaking his head. "You are a known for being a logical, fair hard-ass. You'll kill that reputation if you start apologize for the shit other people do."

She smiled in spite of her shame at having the President of the United States, himself, march down to her office and send her home. "Sir, is that really language befitting the leader of the free world?"

He laughed. "That's more like it."

She rose, stretching out a hand to shake his. "Thank you, sir."

"Well, we go a way back, kid. Go home, take care of Henry and hang out with those kids. We can manage things here for a bit. We'll tell the press that you are hunkered down trying to nail down the specifics of an agreement with Afghanistan."

"No one will believe that."

"Like we give a shit what anyone thinks!" He grinned at her. "I know, pardon me, Madam Secretary." He raised an eyebrow at her. "You better be walking out the door in the next hour, or I'll send security."

"Yes, sir." She said following him to the door. He paused before exciting and reaching out gently squeezed her arm.

"I'm grateful that Henry is alright. You tell him, that although I understand why he did, what he did, I don't appreciate him upsetting my staff. He needs to think about how angry _I'll _ be if ever does something so stupid again." He grinned at her, and kissing her cheek, he stepped out the door.

"Who's Madam Secretary's assistant?" He bellowed, and she could her Blake's meek and startled reply.

"I am, Mr. President."

"Ah, good. I'm sending her on a trip. You should be getting a call from my secretary right about now." As if by magic, the phone on Blake's desks began to ring. "Don't just stand there son, answer it. And follow her directions to the letter."

"Yes, sir!" Blake stumbled forward into action, as the President turned to give Elizabeth a wink.

"Thank you, Madam Secretary."

"You are welcome, Mr. President." She answered trying to fight down exhausted, hysterical laughter. To think President Dalton was thanking her! The ridiculousness of the way things had spun out of control was overwhelming. She tried not to think too hard about how the press would see this trip. She tried not to picture Daisy's reaction to it - the optics of her disappearing into the woods with her family for ten days. She slipped back into her office, sitting at her desk, trying to determine her next move, but she was completely distracted by the picture on her desk, of Henry in his flight suit standing next to his beloved Tomcat. He looked so young and happy, his face brown from the desert. She shuddered at the memory of the desert - the son hot, and she so far from home and him.

"Madam Secretary?" Blake stood in the doorway.

"Yes, Blake?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I'm under orders." He apologized.

"What?" She tried to keep all weariness and anger from her voice.

"If you aren't out of this building in the next forty minutes. I'm fired." He explained.

"Well, we can't have that, can we?" She sighed. "It's alright, Blake. It's no secret to you, that I'm not . . ."

"Ma'am," He interrupted. "You can take two files with you. Two. He left instructions to have your bag searched downstairs - if, uh," He hesitated, unsure. "Well, if I indicated it was necessary."

She rose, reaching for two of the files that sat on her desk. She handed them to Blake. "You can put them in my bag yourself." He looked slightly pale as he complied, and then handed the bag to her.

"Thank you, Blake." She said suddenly overwhelmed with gratefulness for his consistent loyalty. "I should give you a raise."

He blinked at this, clearly stunned, but recovered almost immediately. "Well, ma'am, you can't imagine how disappointed I am that my salary is set by the United States government and not you."

She grinned at this, and patted his shoulder gently, she turned to gather her things. She paused at the closet door, reaching for her coat. "I don't supposed I'm allowed to contact you?"

"Not for at least five days, ma'am. I'm not allowed to take your calls or . . ."

"You are fired." She said and he nodded his head at her. "Well, I guess I'll talk to you in six days then."

"Yes, ma'am."

She smiled at him, suddenly strangely homesick for office, though she was still standing in the middle of it. Later, as she sat slumped in the back seat of the car as they wound their way through the city toward home, she wished she'd thought of something clever to say to him - something that let him know that she was alright - or that at least she would be. But she hadn't been able to think of anything remotely clever. She still couldn't. She leaned back against the soft leather seats, and closing her eyes, she remembered everything.


	17. Chapter 17

_Four Days Earlier . . ._

She was awakened hours later, the phone still held tightly in her hand, by a persistent irritating sound. Opening her eyes she discovered it was Blake, hovering near and whispering "Ma'am, ma'am?" She had to fight the urge to shove him back and away from her, recognizing that her rage was completely misplaced. Still he must have felt something just from her look because he took a half-step away from her.

"I'm sorry, Madam Secretary, but we should be landing in about thirty minutes and I thought you'd want some time to . . ." Here he was at a loss for words, but moving to a sitting position and running a hand through her hair, she understood why. She must look terrible. She'd spent most of the flight either fuming or sobbing. Her eyes _felt_ puffy - her whole face felt puffy. She pushed her hair back and away from her face, trying to remember the rules of polite society and decorum - two of Blake's favorite things.

"Thank you, Blake." Her throat felt dry and brittle, and it must have sounded that way too because Blake handed her a glass of water. She obediently took a sip only to realize it wasn't water. She sputtered briefly, and then downed the entire glass. Blake was already leaving the small office, but paused at the door.

"If there's anything else, ma'am, just let me know."

"No. Thank you, Blake." She studied the young man, who stood at the doorway, a gratefulness washing over her. "I really ought to give you a raise."

"I agree, Madam Secretary and you keep saying that, but honestly, you are powerless when it comes to this issue." He grinned at her.

"I'm powerless over a lot of issues." She said darkly, and his face paled, but being Blake he recovered almost immediately.

"Well, ma'am you said yourself you aren't Superman. The bottle is on your desk." He added with a brief nod. "But you haven't eaten since yesterday morning so . . ."

"I'll keep that under advisement." She said, closing the door behind him.

***MS***

The nice thing about having a private plane was that you didn't have to wait for three hundred strangers to file out of the plane ahead of you. However, it still felt like an eternity, from the time the wheels touched the ground and the doors opened. The reality of home hit her hard. She felt nothing at all like the strong, confident Secretary of State, but she had tried to dress the part - putting on a responsible pair of grey slacks, and a pink blouse, and matching blazer, but at the last second she'd reached almost instinctively for Henry's old sweatshirt. She clutched it in her hands, and debated putting it on over her jacket.

"Your coat, Madam Secretary?" Blake asked, holding out her long wool coat.

"Yes." She answered meekly. She handed him the sweatshirt, feeling an incredibly ridiculous sense of loss as she did.

"I'll keep it safe for you, ma'am." Blake said gently.

They were standing together near the office at the back of the plane. She wasn't sure she had the strength to see the rest of her staff. She was afraid Daisy would talk to her again about the amazing support she'd been given on Twitter. She was terrified that she would lose her temper and deck her press secretary, wondering suddenly what Daisy would think of the optics of _that_.

She forced herself to step further forward and her staff rose immediately as she entered the lounge area of the plane.

"Madam Secretary," Nadine said, rising from her seat and crossing to her. "They should be opening the doors in a few minutes."

"Yes, thank you." She tried to keep her voice even and calm but her heart was beating hard. She was afraid they could hear it.

"The car is already waiting." Daisy said. "They've managed to keep the press back and so it should be a straight walk to the car, and then home."

They were using gentle tones, as though she were a small frightened child. She tried not to let her irritation at this get the better of her, and decided she needed to make sure they understood, that although shaken, she was still the Secretary of State.

"Good. Thank you, Daisy. Have you drafted an outline of the press release for the agreement we reached in Afghanistan? We made some reasonable headway, and we don't want to miss the chance to communicate good news about the desert."

Here, Daisy stumbled a little, completely surprised. "No, ma'am, but I'll, uh, . . . get working on it as soon as we land."

"Good." She said, straightening her jacket and feeling only slightly calmer. "We'll need to set up a meeting with their ambassador to try and keep the goodwill flowing our way."

"Yes, ma'am." Nadine agreed. "I'll set it up for next week."

"This week is fine." She answered sharply.

"It's already Friday, ma'am." Nadine said softly.

"Oh," She paused here, slightly rattled. _Damn._ She'd been very convincing up until then. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry. I lost track of . . ."

"The doors are opening." Blake interrupted.

***MS***

The sun was bright, almost blinding, and she hesitated on the top step. The icy cold of Washington was a shock to her system and she pulled her coat tighter around herself. Fred was just below her, exiting first. It took her a second to realize that the blinding light wasn't just the sun. They were surrounded by press. She had almost no time to recover, but tried to plaster a smile across her face as quickly as possible, but she stumbled on the last step, Nadine catching her arm as she did.

"You . . .said . . . no press." She whispered through gritted teeth.

"There wasn't supposed to be." Nadine told her. "Something must have changed . . ." She stopped, as though shocked, and then said gently, "Ma'am,".

Elizabeth turned to look at Nadine, and saw that she was pointing straight ahead. It was always difficult to see when all the flashbulbs were going off - the constant explosions a distraction, but even as exhausted and stressed as she was, she immediately recognized the outline of the figure standing just beyond her field of vision.

Henry.

She swallowed hard, and tried somehow to think of the appropriate thing to do. Her heart beat hard in her chest, and she must have said something for they all had turned toward her. She could feel their eyes resting on her, but never once did she look away from where he stood. His shoulders were, as ever, ramrod straight, but her eye immediately caught the sight of the bulk of his left arm - a cast. She could hear a voice behind her, Nadine, or someone, but she was already moving forward, kicking off her hated heels and running across the icy ground. She pushed past Fred, who out of compassion, let her go ahead of him. The crowd of reporters were calling out now, but it was just a dull background to her own beating heart.

She threw her arms out wide, long before she reached him, but he had already moved forward, meeting her more than halfway, his own arms open to take her in. She was sobbing again, all hopes of maintaining a cool, calm front to the world gone. There was only Henry, and she cared for nothing else.

She fairly jumped into his arms, but he didn't stagger backwards from the impact. He only pulled her in tight, and she found herself sobbing helplessly, not even able to speak.

"It's okay, babe. It's okay. I'm fine. I'm alright." He whispered in her ear, or maybe shouted, she couldn't tell. She didn't care. The sound of his voice seemed to echo in each chamber of her heart as it finally settled back into the right rhythm; synced completely with his. She felt herself slipping, sliding downwards, but his arms kept her upright.

"I am so sorry, baby. I'm sorry." And then she felt herself lifted up as he carried her to the waiting car that was just a few steps from them. She was vaguely aware of Fred, holding the door open, and Nadine handing her shoes to Henry, but all she could really feel were his arms around her - strong, and familiar; all she could hear was the sound of his voice cooing softly in her ear, and all she could think was, "Thank you, thank you, thank you." Gratefulness flooding her heart - the words repeated over and over again as if it were a prayer.

"Henry."

It was all she could manage - one word. One name. Even as she said it her voice broke and she found herself lost in fresh sobs, but he pushed her back from his arms just long enough to meet her eyes. He was crying too. His beautiful eyes clouded by sorrow and she lifted a hand to his cheek. He somehow manage a smile. "I'm right here, baby. It's okay, Lizzie." And then all clear thought was gone as he pulled her in tighter, kissing her.


	18. Chapter 18

_Three Days Earlier . . ._

Elizabeth drew in a deep steadying breath and holding her shoes in her hands, stepped off the last step and into the kitchen. Henry was at the table with Stevie. They sat side by side, a newspaper spread out between them. It looked like an ordinary morning, the only difference being that Stevie kept one hand wrapped around her father's arm, resting her head against his shoulder as she read.

"Morning Mom!" Stevie said cheerfully, quickly turning the paper over. She moved fast, rising and continuing, "How about some coffee?"

"Yes, thank you." Elizabeth reached across the table and lifted the newspaper.

It was on the front page, of course. It seemed the media was always focused on the wrong things. Never mind that twelve American soldiers were killed in the recent bombings in Afghanistan - never mind that a mine collapse in China had killed forty-six innocent workers - no all the media cared about was drama.

And she had to admit the picture was filled with drama. It wasn't a particularly flattering picture. Her eyes were red-rimmed and wide with absolute terror, her face distorted by overwhelming emotion. They caught it just before she had reached Henry; her arms flung wide and her face dramatically covered in tears. Henry's back was to the camera so that all you could see was the back of his head and shoulders, his arms also wide to embrace her. It was painful to see the anguish in her own eyes. She could still feel it, deep in the pit of her stomach; could remember with every molecule of her body the horrible, wonderful relief of that moment of impact - collapsing into the safety of his arms. They had included a smaller picture in the corner; Henry carrying her to the car; his face half-turned from the camera - his jawline rigid with emotion and looking every bit the hero.

"Well, that's going to inspire world confidence in the United States Secretary of State." She said, looking down at Henry who had been silently watching her.

"Your hair looks good." He offered with a grin.

She tossed the paper down, turning to accept a cup of coffee from Stevie who slid an arm around her mother's waist. She switched the coffee to her other hand, draping an arm over Stevie's shoulders. "Thank you, honey." She kissed her forehead and then turned to lean forward to peer at the picture again.

"Considering I'd been awake for two days, I guess it does look alright." She agreed with him. "Of course, you are happy, you look like a badass."

"I am a badass." He said laughing.

"Dad, you can't brag about it! It was stupid, remember?" Stevie said angrily, pausing to kiss her mother on the cheek before settling back down at the table.

"You are right." He was immediately apologetic. "It was stupid." Satisfied, Stevie leaned back, looking up at her mother.

"Why are you in a suit?" She asked, her brows wrinkled in concern.

_Damn. Caught. So far, Henry hadn't noticed._

She watched his face darken. "Hey, Stevie," He said evenly. "Give us a minute, would you?"

"Sorry." She said as she moved out of the room. "I was just . . ."

"Don't worry about it, baby." Elizabeth smiled at her oldest. "Make it run for it while you can." She sighed and slumped in the chair across from Henry.

"We talked about it." He said, his voice flat.

"They've got you carrying me like a baby across every newspaper and channel twenty-four seven! I can't stay home. I have to go in and you know it! People have to see I can manage."

"Elizabeth! You said yourself, you haven't slept in two days!"

"I slept last night." She offered.

"You did not!" He glared at her. "You sat there staring at me all night."

"You are so conceited!" She said watching him smile. "I did not."

"You did,too." He held out a hand to her, and she rose taking it and sitting on his lap. He kissed her forehead. "God, babe, when was the last time you ate?"

"I don't know. Germany, maybe." She rested her head against his shoulder. "How does the arm feel?"

"Heavy." He sighed saying nothing but running hand back and forth over her back. She relaxed completely, suddenly having to fight back tears, again. She had no desire to go to work and yet recognized the necessity of it. She had to show the world she was strong enough for the job; she had to show herself.

"Liz, you should stay here. Crawl into bed with me."

"I should." She agreed, her voice soft and wistful.

"At least let me feed you." He moved to push her off his lap. "C'mon. I'll fix you some eggs."

"I'm not . . ."

"Elizabeth." His voice held a warning tone, and so she stopped, chastised.

"You know, the press just needs to see you going inside. You could lay right down on that couch and . . ."

"How about a bagel?" She asked, changing the subject.

He sighed and turned to the counter, lifting a pan on to the stove. "Egg white omelette." He told her. "Protein, baby. You need some protein."

She turned to the refrigerator, reaching for the eggs. "The kids are staying home today, so you can rest. Stevie will manage anything while you are sleeping. Turns out, her moving home has been pretty handy." She smiled at him handing him an egg.

"Two." He raised an eyebrow at her, and she turned back to get the other egg. "And I'm gonna watch you eat it."

"See, this is why world leaders don't take me seriously." She said taking a sip of coffee. "You going to cut my food up for me too?"

"World leaders take you seriously, babe. They just get distracted by those killer legs." He grinned at her. "You should buy some hideous pant suits with shoulder pads."

"Hell no!" She said sitting back at the table, and clicking on the tv.

"This again was the dramatic reunion between Secretary of State Elizabeth McCord and her husband, Dr. Henry McCord. Dr. McCord is the retired Marine pilot who single-handedly disarmed young gunman, Charles Adam Lionel. Lionel had come on the Georgetown campus heavily armed and with the intent to kill his former girlfriend Janeen Parker and as many other students as possible. Dr. McCord sustained a broken arm, and some bruised ribs, but prevented what officials are saying would have been a massive loss of life."

She glanced over at him, one eyebrow raised, as he set a plate in front of her, settling into the chair across from her.

"The United States Secretary of State was on her way home from a trip to Afghanistan when the attack occurred. This was her first trip since the bombing just a little over a month ago that nearly claimed her own life. The images of the clearly distraught Madame Secretary reuniting with her husband have dominated Facebook, Twitter and the news. The dramatic, raw, reunion is another example of how President Dalton's new Secretary of State is anything but politics as usual."

She watched as they played it again, her running barefoot across the icy tarmac, Fred just a few steps behind - her staff watching from a distance. She focused on them this time - not the scene of her falling into Henry's arms, sobbing as he held her close and then lifted her up into his arms.

Nadine, paused to lift her shoes from the ground, and then lifting a hand wiped tears from her face. Daisy's face was pure joy - no doubt thrilled that the press had caught such a dramatic moment. She could tell from the tightness of Fred's shoulders that letting her run ahead of him had caused him stress. He always preferred to be out in front - watching. She furrowed her brows, surprised not to see Blake, he'd been right behind her. She expected to see him unflappable as ever, lifting an arm to wave to the press in cool triumph. It was just as the scene faded to black and the news anchor moved on to another story that she finally spotted him, he had ducked behind the wing of the plane, his face turned away from the cameras, a look of relief and anguish on his face.

The TV clicked off and she turned to face Henry, who said nothing but pointed at the plate in front of her. She lifted her fork, but felt queasy even as the smell of eggs filled her nostrils. She forced herself to chew and swallow.

"I don't think I can . . ." Her stomach had been perpetually twisted in knots since . . .God, since, forever, it seemed.

"Take another bite." He interrupted. "You aren't leaving unless you eat." His voice was firm and she contemplated protesting being treated like a child but opted for cooperation instead.

"It's awkward with you staring at me. What about you? Aren't you hungry?"

"Stevie made me waffles." He told her. "Liz, you don't look weak in those pictures. You don't."

"I look like a woman unhinged."

"You look like a human being." He corrected her. "You aren't ashamed I . . ."

"God, no!" She interrupted. "I was so . . ." She swallowed hard, reaching for the glass of juice he'd set in front of her, and trying to swallow down some orange juice before continuing. "It was _private_. It was you and me, and now it's plastered across the front page for the whole world to see, and Daisy is tracking polls on it." She set her fork down. "I feel like the world caught us in bed." She blushed at the thought.

"I know you like to keep everything separate, but I'm starting to get the idea that it might not always be possible, babe. Besides, all the press has been positive." He shrugged his shoulders.

"Daisy is beside herself with joy." Elizabeth agreed bitterly. "She loved the dramatic movie ending and loved that it was all on film! She was completely baffled when I was so pissed at you."

He considered this for a moment. "Really?"

"I heard her tell Blake that I must be heartless."

He furrowed his brows. "She should cut Matt loose."

Elizabeth's eyes grew wide. "That's just what Blake said to her!"

"Blake's a good man. He called twice to make sure you were all right. You didn't have to explain your fury to him, did you?"

"No."

"C'mon eat your eggs before they get cold."

"Henry, I really can't. Food just . . ." She looked up at him with wide, blue eyes.

"It's just the residual stress." He said moving to the chair beside her, a hand on her arm. "You can eat. I know it doesn't taste good, but you haven't got any pounds to spare, baby. And you aren't going to inspire world confidence, looking like a starved French model." He nudged her arm. "C'mon just another bite."

***MS***

Blake stood beside his desk, motionless. He was running down a checklist in his head. He was always running down a checklist in his head. Her car was five minutes out which gave him about eight minutes to prepare. He was amazed that she was coming in today, and personally thought she'd be better served to stay at home and sleep if nothing else. But he'd worked for her long enough to know that she never did what anyone expected.

He watched the office around him, everyone busy, or pretending to be. He had already determined that his greatest task today would be to keep Daisy away from Madam Secretary. Daisy was giddy with the positive press and couldn't help but go on and on about the fabulous optics of the reunion. She seemed to have positively no grasp of the fact that Elizabeth McCord was nearly completely destroyed in those hours waiting to hear what had happened to her husband. She didn't understand that the reunion had been deeply personal and should've been completely private. Of course, Daisy seemed to have little grasp of love - at least the real deep kind that the McCords seemed to share. He felt sorry for Matt. Even after all they'd been through, it didn't seem like Daisy was any closer to making up her mind about him. He generally kept himself separate and apart from office romance and drama, but this one was literally unfolding right in front of him. It was hard to avoid the ups and downs of their relationship.

He had been so lost in thought that he'd almost been caught unprepared as she entered the office. He could always tell when she was on her way in the doors - it wasn't just the security detail, and the added chaos they brought. The very air seemed to change when she was in the building. He couldn't decide if it was her seemingly endless energy or her unpredictable way of managing things, but whatever it was - the office felt different when she was there.

"Madam Secretary," He smiled at her in greeting. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Blake." She smiled back, but looking at her closely the smile seemed false somehow. Her eyes looked tired, and sad. He was right. She shouldn't be at work.

"You've a fairly light day." He told her, following her into her office. "I don't think anyone expected you to come in today, so . . ."

"Well, I'm here." She said sharply, surprising him.

"Yes, ma'am." He remained unflustered. "There is a budget meeting at eleven, and I believe Russell Jackson set up a meeting with you regarding the trade negotiations with Japan."

"Yes, Blake, thank you." She sat down behind her desk. He nodded at her, and waited. Generally, she gave him a list of things to do first thing in the morning.

"Ma'am?" He asked when she continued to stare at the desk in front of her.

"Oh, sorry, Blake, I . . ." She waved a hand at him. "I don't need anything just now."

"A cup of coffee?" He asked gently. "I don't mind . . ."

She almost always got her own cup of coffee. She had told him during his first week at work - "I doubt you earned your MBA with hopes of fetching coffee for me some day."

"Yes, Blake, thank you." She smiled at him. "Do you have that receipt for me yet?"

"No ma'am. I haven't had a chance to take that jacket to the cleaners just yet." He relaxed at this. She must be feeling better if she could remember to tease him.

"Alright, but don't let it go too long. The offer doesn't last forever." She smiled at him. "After the coffee can you bring me the file on Yamoto Industries. I'd better go over the numbers. My brain hasn't been it's sharpest today."

"Yes, Madam Secretary." He turned and went out into the outer office to pour her a cup of coffee. He wasn't surprised to find Daisy at his elbow.

"Is she in?" She asked, excitedly. "I didn't think she'd come in today. Has she seen the numbers?"

"Good morning, Daisy." He nodded at her.

"Good morning, Blake." She said, irritation in her voice. "Is she in?"

"The Secretary of State is in her office, and is quite busy today. I doubt she'll have time to add an impromptu meeting with you, but I will get back to you."

"At least show her the tracking polls. Her numbers are through the roof!" Daisy called after him.

He reentered the office with a polite knock, as he always did. It gave her time to send him away or prepare herself for his entrance. Once he'd knocked and gotten no response, he entered the office rather shocked and embarrassed to find her on the couch with Dr. McCord. Neither of them saw him come in, as they were lost in a rather passionate embrace. He'd turned around immediately, and spent the rest of the week unable to meet her eyes. She was such a confident, strong and independent woman, it was hard to see her as a wife. But then he'd met Dr. McCord who was equally independent and strong, and then it made sense. They were evenly, perfectly matched. Dr. McCord had been nothing like he'd expected. He had assumed a Professor of Religious Studies to be an old, stuffed shirt, but Henry McCord was none of those things, and he was clearly comfortable being married to a woman powerful enough to run a country.

She was standing at the window, looking out. She seemed lost in thought, and he hated to disturb her, so he cleared his throat. She turned around slowly, and he noticed that her skirt slid sideways as she did. He considered her thoughtfully a moment. She was a ridiculously thin woman to begin with - he'd initially miscalculated her size more than once. She was so strong, she seemed bigger than she actually was, but now she seemed almost skeleton thin.

"Your coffee, and here is the file you requested. Can I get you something to eat?" He asked gently.

"You must have talked to Henry." She said with a laugh. "No, I'm fine. Thank you, Blake. Let me know when it's time for my budget meeting."

"Yes, ma'am." He felt like adding, _and I'll be at my desk if you need anything._ He recognized this statement would be stupid however, his entire job was based on the premise that he was there if she needed anything.

He'd alerted her ten minutes before the budget meeting and then sent her out the door just five minutes before. She'd forgotten her files, and he'd sprinted back for them, catching up to her in the hallway with them.

"Thank you, Blake." She said absently, and he'd almost offered to walk her to conference room. She seemed lost, but he didn't want to imply that she couldn't function. He was terrified of her anger for one thing, and he wasn't going to be the one to point out to her she'd come back to work too soon.

He found Nadine waiting at his desk. "She's at the budget meeting."

"Yes."

"How does she seem?" Nadine asked.

"What do you mean?" He turned toward her, feeling a rising sense of protective anger.

"I don't know, she just seems a little . . ."

"Is there anything I can do for you?" He asked sharply. "Because I've got quite a bit of work and I don't really have time for idle gossip." He hadn't realized how it would sound until it was out of his mouth, and he braced himself for her chastisement, but she'd only smiled and putting a hand on his shoulder said, "No, I don't need anything, Blake."

He watched her walk away breathing a sigh of relief. He was clearly a little off his game. He was usually much better at thinking before speaking.

It was just twenty minutes later, that they called from the budget meeting trying to track her down.

"She isn't there?" He'd asked completely confused.

"No," The voice on the other end of the phone was harsh and irritated. "Is she running late? You know a simple phone call would be nice so we at least knew what was going on."

"Oh, well," He stumbled trying to think where she could be. "I, uh, that's my fault. She got pulled away at the last minute. She told me to call but I got distracted by . . ." Well now he sounded like a complete idiot.

"Distracted? This isn't some little law firm, kid. You are working with important and powerful people!"

"Yes, sir." The upbraiding lasted another fifteen minutes, so it was quite a while before he could hang up and try and track her down. He knew she was inside the building because her security squad was still on the floor. She never would be able to sneak past them.

He finally found her, twenty-five minutes later standing in an empty office on the second floor. She was again standing staring out the window.

"Madam Secretary?" He said gently, stepping into the room.

"Oh, Blake! I'm supposed to be somewhere, aren't I? I got turned around and then . . ."

"Ma'am, you missed the budget meeting. It was nearly an hour ago." He bit at the corner of his lip. "I . . .is there something I can do for you ma'am?"

"You didn't watch." She said turning around and facing him.

"What? I . . ." He felt a rising sense of panic. She wasn't making any sense. Should he call someone?

"At the tarmac. Everyone watched, but you didn't."

"Oh." He blushed, realizing suddenly what she meant. "Well, that was . . . it wasn't my business, ma'am." He shrugged his shoulders. "That was private."

"Not to the rest of the world." She said with a sad smile. "Daisy has tracking polls on it."

"Well, ma'am, Daisy is very good at her job, but when it comes to actual relationships, she's not very . . ."

"She's young." She said. "But then again so are you."

"I'm older than I look." He told her.

"My money is that you are younger than I think. I'm considering adopting you, but everyone in my family sweats so . . ."

"Oh, well, I'd have to turn you down, then, ma'am." He grinned at her. "You are supposed to meet with Russell Jackson in twenty minutes."

"My office or his?" She asked with a sigh.

"His. Shall I," He hesitated, unsure. "Shall I walk you there?"

She laughed at this. "You've got a future in diplomacy, Blake. No, I'll manage. I'm sorry about the budget meeting. I imagine you took the heat for that."

"You were unfortunately detained, ma'am."

"And no doubt you got chewed out over it." She turned to cross the room, following him out into the hallway.

"Well, I know that probably means you wish you could give me a raise, but we both know that's an impossibility." He said glancing at her as they walked down the hall.

"Who said anything about a raise." She said meeting his eye with a wink.

***MS***

Blake was relieved that she left work around 3:30 p.m. Even she had to admit that putting in a full day was ridiculous. He felt an enormous wave of relief wash over him as he watched her stride out the hallway. You could never tell from the pace of her steps that she was nearly killed by the bomb blast a few weeks earlier, or that she'd been trembling with fear just forty-eight hours earlier waiting to see if her husband had been killed. Of course, she was good at hiding things. You'd never know that she hated wearing heels with every fiber of her being. He sat back at his desk, ready to actually accomplish some work.

"You are Blake, aren't you?" He looked up to find Russell Jackson looming over him.

"Yes, sir." He rose immediately. "But Madam Secretary just left . . ."

"I am aware." Jackson answered, his eyes narrowing on Blake. "But I've got a few questions for you."

"Me?" Blake lay a hand on his chest. "I don't think . . ."

"Don't worry! I'm not asking you to spill state's secrets!" Jackson shook his head. "God this office is paranoid."

"Well, sir, we exist under the shadow of the White House so paranoia is part of the ambiance."

Russell Jackson laughed out loud. "You are clearly the one she picked! C'mon, son, take a walk with me. The President has some concerns, and wants to see what we can do to help."

Blake followed the older man down the hall, just as Nadine stepped out of her office. She met his eye with a look of surprise, but he gave a slight shrug, hoping that she wouldn't blast this meeting all over the office - or he thought in horror, call the Secretary of State! Without even turning his head, Russell Jackson called over his shoulder, "Relax, Nadine. Blake and I are just planning a welcome home party for the McCords." He winked at Blake who nodded, his face pale with nerves.

Sometimes, he wondered, if he wouldn't have been better off as a barista on 18th street.


	19. Chapter 19

_Three Days Ago, continued . . ._

"You're home early." Ali said when she stepped into the kitchen.

"Disappointed?" Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at her daughter.

"Very." Ali said moving around the kitchen island and into her mother's open embrace. She rested her head against her mother's shoulder. "Dad's sleeping. Are you hungry? I'm making chilli."

"Maybe later." She kissed her daughter's forehead, but didn't release her, keeping her close. "Did Dad take his meds today? How were things here?"

"Stevie told him to take his meds. I think he did. We are all fine." She shrugged, stepping away from her mother, and back to the pot on the stove. "How were things at work?"

Elizabeth lifted a hand waving away the question. "Forget about work. You doing okay, Ali? I don't know, I thought I heard you wake up last night."

"Just a bad dream. It was okay. I didn't want to bother you guys."

"You can bother us." Elizabeth stepped closer to Alison, a hand on her arm. "You can always bother us."

"I know that." She said softly, her dark eyes hidden by her bangs. "But yesterday was kind of . . ."

"Yeah, I know. But Dad is home and we are all fine, right?"

"Right." Ali said, but her tone held little conviction. "Only . . ."

"What?" Elizabeth asked, her brows knitted in concern.

"You aren't eating and you don't look so great." She answered softly.

"It's been a tough couple of days, Noodle. We'll find our way, okay?"

"Okay." Alison nodded her head, and then turned back to the chilli on the stove.

"I'm gonna check in on Dad, okay? And then I'll come back down and try your chilli."

Alison's wide smile at this last sentence, filled Elizabeth's heart with equal measures of happiness and guilt. She had no idea how she would manage to take even a bite of chilli, her stomach was so tight with stress. She knew she'd have to eat something in front of Alison who was a worrier on the calmest of days. Elizabeth took the stairs slowly, wishing she'd thought to ask where Stevie and Jason were, but as she passed his bedroom, she saw the two of them sitting together on the floor playing video games.

"Hey, Mom!" Jason called out seeing her.

"Hi, guys." She leaned against the door jam smiling at the two of them. "I see you suffered through your day at home alright."

"Well, the easiest way to keep a close eye on Dad without bothering him was to hang out in here, so you know, I thought I'd let Stevie play video games." Jason said grinning at her. "You know, to cheer her up."

"Did it work?" Liz asked her daughter.

"Too soon to tell. I need to kick his butt a few more times." Stevie said. "Dad fell asleep about an hour ago. I think his arm was hurting him earlier. He actually took his pill."

"Ali's making chilli."

"Vegan chilli?" Jason asked suspiciously.

"Didn't ask. Sometimes its better not to know." She winked at him.

***MS***

Henry was still asleep. She was surprised by the wave of emotion that swept over her, seeing him there asleep. His features were completely relaxed, and he was turned on his side, facing the center of the bed - turned toward her. She was thankful that it was his left arm he'd broken - he could still write and he was a pretty fast one-handed typist, but most of all it was this; he slept on the left and she on his right, usually tucked under his arm.

She sat down on the end of the bed, not even pausing to take off her jacket or shoes. She sat watching him sleep - her heart filled with a gratefulness she could never explain or express.

***MS***

Henry awoke achy and groggy from his pain pill. He hated taking drugs of any kind. He was reluctant to take anything and it drove Elizabeth crazy.

"_What's the matter?" She would ask him. "You've got your forehead all scrunched up."_

"_I've got a headache." He would tell her._

"_Take something." _

"_It doesn't hurt that much." He would answer with a shrug._

"_You make me crazy, Henry, you know that?"_

But he hated the feeling of having something in his system. He hated the way it made him feel out of sorts or out of control. Of course, when it came to real pain, he wasn't quick to shrug off medicine. After his crash in Khafji, he'd certainly appreciated the medicine they'd given him. Of course, he'd been lost in the desert for two days before they'd found him, so he was pretty much ready for any relief - the pain had been blindingly intense. He certainly supported anyone in his family doing whatever necessary to alleviate pain. After the bombing, it had pained him deeply to see Elizabeth's blue eyes clouded with pain, as she'd recovered from her injuries. And even further back, he remembered telling the doctor when Stevie was born - "Good God! Give her something!" He hated seeing Elizabeth in pain. It made him sick to his stomach.

He sat up, surprised to see Elizabeth home. He glanced over at the clock. She must have left work early, and he was relieved that she'd had enough sense to recognize she wasn't ready for a full day at the office - most of her full days leaning toward ten or twelve hours of nonstop stress. She must have come straight upstairs to him. She still wore her jacket, glasses and shoes - although one shoe had fallen off. She was sound asleep, sprawled out on the end of the bed, one arm twisted under her body. He was tempted to try and move her, but didn't want to wake her. Sleep was a rare occurrence for his wife. He gently removed her other shoe, and lifted the glasses from her face, before pulling a blanket over her. She was such a powerhouse - never still and always thinking and planning. He loved to see her asleep - her face relaxed and peaceful. He closed the door and stepped into the hallway, hesitating halfway down the stairs hearing the voices of their children. He stood still deciding to eavesdrop on them.

". . .no, they are both asleep, still." Stevie was saying. "And don't bug them."

"Like we're idiots." Jason's voice was dry and sarcastic.

"No, I just mean . . ."

"We aren't stupid, Stevie." Allison said.

"I didn't think you were. Did Mom eat anything?"

Alison must have replied by shaking her head because Stevie hesitated briefly before continuing. "Do we have any ice cream?"

"Some vanilla." Jason answered. "She loves that turtle one. We should go get her some of that."

"I'll go. What else?"

"She likes those cookies from the bakery across from that shoe store."

"Great directions, Alison." Jason teased.

"I can't remember the name. You remember, right Stevie?"

"I do. But we should figure out a way to get her some protein."

"Get the ice cream, and make her a milkshake!" Jason said triumphantly. "You can put in some of that protein powder. She won't notice."

"Yeah! Good idea." Stevie said.

"Plotting a world take over, I see." Henry said stepping into the room.

"Just a minor coup d'etat." Stevie said smiling at him. "Sit down, have some chilli. Allison used actual meat!"

"Wow! Thanks, honey." He reached over patting her hand, and she ducked her head blushing from his praise, but she pulled her hand away from his.

"Here." Stevie said setting a bowl in front of him.

"What time is it?" He asked.

"About six." Jason told him. "Mom still asleep?"

"Yeah." He said as he lifted a spoon to his mouth. "Did she eat?"

"No." Allison said rising to take her bowl to the sink. "Stevie's going to the store for ice cream. We figured we could get her to eat that."

"Your best bet." He agreed. "Hey, Noodle, come sit down. I want to talk to you guys."

"Dad, I should . . ."

"Allison, c'mon." He kept his voice gentle, but there was a stern edge to it. She sighed and then sat back down.

"Yesterday was kind of . . ." He paused, lost in the memory of returning home, "Well, we didn't get a real chance to talk together and I . . ."

"Dad, it's fine." Stevie told him.

"It's not fine!" Alison stormed. "It was pretty stupid! You could've been killed!"

"I'm sorry." He said softly. "I know I scared you and . . ."

"Why would you do that? It was crazy!" Alison asked angrily.

"Honey, I'm still a Marine."

"You are retired." Stevie said.

"It's not like that. It becomes part of who you are. I can't forget twenty years of my life, and I was in a position to do something. I couldn't let those kids get killed and just hide."

"'If you are silent against an oppressor . . .'" Stevie quoted, nodding her head, but Alison turned on her sister.

"This isn't a stupid ethics class, Stevie. You saw what happened! He could be dead!"

"What do you mean you saw what happened?" Henry asked leaning forward.

"We saw the video." Jason confessed softly.

"What video?" He asked suddenly alarmed.

"Some kid from inside one of the buildings. It's all over Youtube. He must've been in a building right beside you because you can see everything."

"Did your Mom see it?" He asked angrily.

"I don't know. She's not talking much, is she?" Alison asked bitterly. "You screwed things up, Dad."

"Hey, he saved all those kids!" Jason said angrily. "You're acting like a jerk!"

"Hey, no. Jason don't. She's allowed to be angry." He turned to his son.

"Well, thanks for giving me permission, Dad." Alison's voice was bitter.

"Don't push it, Alison Grace." He warned.

"Alison!" Stevie snapped at her sister. "Knock it off!"

"All he had to do was turn one second earlier and you'd be dead. It was so stupid!" She slumped in her chair.

"It was dangerous." He agreed. "I wish you hadn't watched that video."

"Me too." Jason said. "I keep seeing it when I close my eyes."

He reached over squeezing Jason's shoulder. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm apologizing, Alison." He said when she refused to look at him. "And I understand why you are angry. We've had a hell of a month, and Mom and I," He sighed, lifting his good hand to rub the back of his neck. "Well, we're a little beat up, just like you."

"Mom's a wreck." Alison said softly.

"Yeah." He agreed softly. "You know how mad you are Ali, well imagine, Mom. She's pretty ticked at me, too."

"So, what do we do now?" Jason asked and Henry had to smile. Jason was always a doer - he didn't want to talk about things - he wanted to _fix_ things.

"We hang tough, and fight our way through it." He offered. "We let Alison be angry and try and get your mother to eat."

"Or, we could move back to Virginia and forget all this crap." Alison said rising up out of her chair. "I hate it here! I just want to go home - to go back to the way things were! I mean no one tries to kill college professors!"

"Um, hey, Ali - they just did!" Jason said. "And you were always complaining about the farm!"

"Going back wouldn't change anything, honey." He said rising and crossing to her. "Your mom is Secretary of State - even if she quit. It doesn't change what has already been." He reached out touching her arm gently. "We can't undo that. And is that really what you want? You want her to quit? Think about it - what message would that send to the world? She hates when she loses at Scrabble! She wouldn't survive quitting. Think about it! What would that do to her?"

"I don't _care_ about what the world thinks! This isn't history class! This is my _mother_! You said yourself we can't keep her safe! And now you go chasing down . . ." She rubbed her face with her hand, fighting hysterical tears. "I just can't . . .I don't want to be an orphan! I don't want anyone to die or even . . . she's so upset! What are we going to do?" She turned angrily toward him. "This is your fault! You've got to fix it!"

"Okay, okay." He said rubbing a hand over her back. "We're getting a little bit worked up here. Come on, sit down, Ali. Mom and I are both okay. She's going to get some rest, and I'm going to get this cast off eventually and everything is going to . . ."

"Go back to normal?" Alison asked stepping away from him. "Right! Like we're just going to forget watching her get thrown to the ground while a bomb explodes or watch you crouch behind some statue while some crazy kid waves a machine gun around. Worked up? I think it's pretty amazing that I'm not completely hysterical!" She stormed out of the room and up the stairs.

"I'll go, Dad." Stevie said pushing herself up from the table. "She's just upset."

"Yeah." He said dejectedly. "Thanks, honey."

He collapsed into a chair as she rose and followed her sister upstairs. The weight of his guilt seemed unbearable. Alison was right. This was his fault. He turned to Jason, who sat to his right, saying nothing.

"What about you? You want to move back to the farm?"

"God no! Well, maybe, sometimes." He sighed. "It's complicated."

"Hell, yeah." Henry agreed.

***MS***

He stayed downstairs cleaning up the kitchen. Jason helped him, and it felt better to do something ordinary. The only difference was that they kept the tv off. It seemed too dangerous to have the news playing in the background like they usually did - he couldn't manage the images of Liz running to him - a look of sheer anguish maring her beautiful face.

The girls came back downstairs after about a half an hour, Alison's eyes red rimmed and puffy. She didn't say anything to him, just settled at the table with her homework spread out in front of her. It seemed so ordinary that he half-expected Elizabeth to come through the door exhausted and starving but so anxious to see them all and talk to them.

They had spent so much time talking about taking the job - not deciding whether or not to take it. The answer had been obvious. She'd only had a day to decide and he understood that it was something she _had _to do. If your president asks you to serve - how can you possibly say no? Not even considering the fact that the president happens to be your old boss and mentor, a man you respected and still feel guilty about leaving. There was no choice, but they had spent hours talking through it all - trying to prepare for it. But how could they possibly have been prepared?

Of course, in hindsight he would've said no. He would've bolted the front door, and forbid her from leaving the farm and taking the job. But they didn't know that they were walking into a dangerous trap. They had no idea at the time that Marsh had been killed from the inside. It still made him sick to his stomach to think of all the danger she faced. He remembered the absolute terror he felt when he heard about George's death. He knew she wasn't safe - felt it in his bones, and yet they couldn't turn the ship around - she was Secretary of State - they couldn't undo it. It didn't matter how much Alison or he longed for things to go backwards and Elizabeth to be safe again.

"These stupid absolute values are killing me." Allison said, shaking him out of his dark thoughts. "I know it's something really simple but it's like my brain has been so focused on complicated problems, I can't do the easy ones. Dad?"

He smiled down at her, recognizing that this was an offering of a truce. He wiped his hands on a towel going to her. "You'll kick yourself when I show it to you." He told her. "You conquered this in eighth grade. You just forgot." She smiled up at him, and he had to fight the powerful desire to pull her up into a fierce hug, so grateful that she was willing to work through it with him. Instead, he reached out with his good hand and rubbed his thumb along her cheek. She allowed this show of affection even though they both understood she was still angry.

They had worked their way through three problems, and even though she had the hang of it, he sat beside her, comforted at the nearness and normalcy of the evening. Jason had dragged his homework to the table too, and he sat between them, absolutely content. Stevie had gone out, and returned with four different kinds of ice cream and every one of her mother's favorite foods, and his eyes had welled with tears at the pure sweetness of it; his children desperate to make things better for the mother that they loved so deeply.

He should have known - Elizabeth had been asleep for about two hours - so he should have expected that she would wake up soon, and he should have thought about the fact that they were all downstairs, and she was all alone. He should have gone to check on her - he'd meant too, but he was so comforted by the nearness of them all that he hadn't even risen to get a book to read. He should have known that any peace they had was tenuous at best or perhaps just an illusion - Alison was right - everything was wrecked.

He heard her footstep first, and had already risen by the time they heard her voice, loud and panic-stricken. He recognized just by the pattern of her steps that she was distraught, but the sound of her voice still unnerved him. He felt it all happen in slow-motion, Alison rising so fast at the sound of her mother calling to him, that she'd overturned her chair. Jason, who was closer to the stairs was half-way up before he'd even reached the first step. He could hear the girls behind him, Stevie calling out to her mother.

"Henry! Where's . . . Henry?" She stood in the hallway, her hair disheveled, the jacket of her suit half off of one shoulder. Her eyes wide with panic, her beautiful face pale. "Henry!"

"Dad's right here." Jason said, his voice high with fear. "Mom. Mom. Calm down. He's right, here." He reached a hand to her, but she stepped back frightened.

"Henry?" Her voice was softer now, as he stepped nearer to her.

"Babe, I'm right here. You just fell asleep, and I was downstairs. I'm sorry." He said reaching out to her with open arms, ignoring the pain as he lifted his cast to embrace her. "It's okay, babe." She fell against him, her whole body trembling.

"It's okay. I'm right here." He whispered into her hair, still aware of his distraught children behind him. "C'mon babe, let's go sit down. C'mon on." He kept his arm around her, as he guided her toward their bedroom. He turned to look over his shoulder and could see Jason was crying, while Alison's face was set in hard angry glare. He turned to Stevie, guilt-ridden that he leaned on her over and over.

"It's okay, Dad." She said wiping a hand over her tear-stained face. Her voice shook unsteadily. "I can . . ." She reached out pulling Jason into her arms. He didn't protest which proved he was completely distraught. It was an impossible situation and he felt torn in every direction, but he only nodded at her, and led Liz back to their room.

***MS***

Elizabeth McCord sat in the dim light of the kitchen with a carton of ice cream in front of her. She lifted the spoon to her lips, and tried to focus on the sweetness of the ice cream.

"Ice cream." Henry said, stepping into the kitchen. "Elizabeth McCord's only vice."

"If only that were true." She said with a wry laugh. He sat down across from her, and rubbed his eyes glancing at the clock. It was nearly eleven.

"Want some?" She asked without looking up at him. She could feel his eyes on her, and knew he was worried.

"No. You eat." He pushed the carton closer to her. "I dare you to eat the whole thing."

She lifted the spoon to her mouth, but could barely swallow the bit and instead put the spoon back down, pushing the cartoon away.

"Henry," She began softly, but he interrupted her.

"Don't worry about it." He said reaching out and squeezing her hand. "It's okay. The kids are fine."

"Right." She said looking up to meet his eyes. "Look, I'm having a hard time navigating this . . .I . . ." She sighed unable to put into words how completely tired and mixed-up she felt.

"I kind of picked up on that, Babe." He grinned at her, and she was forced to smile back at him.

"You did?" She said. "I wasn't sure because I can be kind of subtle about my feelings."

He laughed out loud at this, and for some reason the comforting sound of his laughter, brought tears to her eyes. She swallowed hard.

"I don't know what to do." This confession was soft, and the smile faded from his face. He reached out holding her hand tightly in his. He knew how hard it was for her to confess weakness - she hated it - hated being unable to solve problems.

"I think," He said, leaning in, his face serious. "I think you should eat some more ice cream, and then I think you should go upstairs with me, and sleep for the next four days."

"Ice cream and sleep? This is your solution?" She asked, brushing a tear out of her eye.

He smiled at her and rising leaned across the table kissing her forehead. He sat back down, pushing the carton of ice cream back in front of her. "Yeah, babe. Well," he confessed with a grin. "I was planning on a little sex, too. It always makes _me_ feel better."

She laughed out loud at this, her eyes still clouded with tears. Leave it to Henry to bring it back around to sex! It was his go-to solution.

"Well, you are a Dr." She pointed out. It was an old joke. The confusion of them both being Dr. McCord - people generally assumed at least one of them was a medical doctor.

"I am." He grinned at her, handing her the spoon. She shook her head.

"No, I can't."

He rose putting the lid on the ice cream and putting it back in the freezer. "Well, breakfast then." He said turning back to her. He stood beside her chair, holding his hand out to her. "C'mon, back to bed."

She rose, slowly, clinging to his fingers, trying to work up the courage to tell him that despite her complete break down earlier, she still had to go to work in the morning. She suddenly wished that she could travel back in time, and close the door in Conrad's face - wishing with all her heart that they'd never traveled down this path.

He slid an arm around her shoulders, as they climbed the stairs together. "How about I come meet you for lunch, tomorrow?" He asked, and relief washed over her. She should have known. He understood.

"That would be perfect." She said, her voice husky with tears. "I wish . . ." She said as they stepped into the bedroom together. "Henry, I'm sorry. I never should have . . ."

"I'm the one who put us here." He pointed out. "What happened had nothing to do with your job." He put a hand on her shoulder, pushing her down to sit on the bed. "And I'm proud of you, Liz. You know that. No one else could have managed the things you have. You've accomplish a lot for the country. And we are fine. We are a little beat up just now, and shaken, but we are still together - you and me."

"Okay." She said, ducking her face, and wiping tears away.

"Lay down." He told her, and she lay back, sliding under the covers. He climbed in next to her, wrapping himself around her.

"Henry I don't think . . ." She began softly suddenly so exhausted that she could barely manage the sentence.

"I was just teasing, babe." He said kissing her. "Close your eyes and sleep. Tomorrow will be better."

She was asleep before he finished the sentence, trusting in the hope and truth of his words; trusting completely in the solid, comforting sound of his voice.


	20. Chapter 20

_Present day . . ._

Elizabeth McCord opened her eyes to the slanting rays of bright light and immediately recognized that it wasn't morning sun spilling across the bed. She turned her head to where she expected to see her nightstand and alarm clock, but then remembered that she wasn't home. She closed her eyes briefly - thankful that she didn't have to get up and force her feet into a pair of heels before rushing out the door to spend eleven or twelve hours trying to manage complicated world conflict.

She turned her head, expecting Henry to be curled beside her, but instead saw Alison, a book laid across her chest, asleep. She sat up on her elbow, and gently took the book. Glancing at the title she shook her head gently thinking that Henry's influence over the children led to surprising reading material for a sixteen year old girl. She smiled looking down at Alison's dark lashes, and smooth pale skin. It still amazed her that the tiny babies they'd fussed and lost sleep over had turned into these beautiful, tall people who constantly amazed her with their strength and independent spirits. She brushed a hand over Alison's cheek and leaning over gave her a soft kiss. She wasn't surprised to find her eyes welling with tears - she cried easily these last few days, but thinking about her children - even before the violence of the bombs and Henry's Superman Routine always filled her with emotion.

She could remember with absolute clarity bringing Stevie home from the hospital, and standing over her crib watching her sleep. Henry stood beside her, an arm around her shoulder. They were so young, so tired, and so happy.

"_Let's get this one thing right." She'd whispered to him desperate to make it come true as she watched their tiny girl's lips pucker in sleep._

"_Yes." He whispered back, but it came out strong; a promise._

She hadn't been thinking about parenting on the first date with Henry. She'd mostly been thinking about how good he looked in his jeans, but even then in those first days - she had seen the kindness in his eyes. On the second date, they'd been walking through town, and a homeless lady, clearly in need of medication, stumbled into them cursing angrily. Henry didn't push her away or jump back in fear, instead he ignored her rant, and with a gentle hand on her arm, had redirected her saying in a gentle voice, "I'm so sorry, mother. Can we buy you a bowl of soup?" The lady had thrown an angry arm his way and stormed off, but Elizabeth had felt something inside her melt at the softness of his tone, and his choice of words - respectful, kind and a little old-fashioned. He'd blushed when he'd seen her staring at him, but said nothing, simply raising an eyebrow at her, and that's when she reached for his hand for the very first time. And as they continued on their walk to the restaurant, she'd thought,_ He'll be such a kind father_. Which was ridiculous because they were on their second date, and still in college, but it flicked through her brain all the same.

She stretched, and climbed out of bed, careful not to wake Ali. She stood at the window staring out at the bright sunshine and blue sky, feeling almost happy. She heard his footsteps as he entered the room, but didn't say anything or even look up. She felt his arms slide around her body as he rested his chin on the top of her head, the two of them looking out the window. She could feel that he'd been outside from the warmth of his clothes and skin. She leaned back into his embrace, letting out a contented sigh as she did. Henry was very good at saying nothing, which she appreciated. She hated when people tried to fill a moment up with words - when words were unnecessary. He leaned closer, kissing her cheek, and whispering something sweet in her ear before turning her to face him.

She hardly noticed the weight and bulk of his cast, which had seemed to dominate her thoughts whenever she was with him - always reminding her of the horrible video- him crouched ready to strike at a madman. Watching it she knew the outcome - knew he would take the boy down before he fired, and yet it made her stomach drop every time - the fear flooding her entire system until she was unable to speak or move - waiting to see what happened next and terrified of the outcome. She shivered at the memory of the video and he pulled her in tighter.

"What?" He whispered.

"Nothing." She said, rising on tiptoe to kiss him. They kissed as long as they dared, with Ali asleep a few feet from them, and then he broke away from her, taking her by the hand.

"C'mon." He said, grinning at her. "I know just what you want."

She followed him out of the small bedroom and into the common area of the cabin, but he didn't stop there, insteading leading her out the front door. The cabin had a wide porch that wrapped all the way around it. He led her around to the side where someone had set up a table.

"Ta da!" He said laughing and giving a sweep of his hand toward the table. "There's waffles, eggs, and bacon. Although", He said, pulling her closer to him as she laughed. "It's really closer to dinner, but I've got an in with the chef. All I have to do is snap my fingers and he'll make whatever you ask!" He pulled out a chair for her, and she sat as he shook out her napkin, setting it in her lap. She reached out with her long fingers, pulling him closer and giving him another kiss.

"This looks delicious."

And for the first time in weeks, she actually meant it. She released him, and leaning forward put a waffle on her plate as he sat in the chair beside her, pouring himself a cup of coffee, a contented smile on his face. She took a slice of bacon, savoring it's saltiness as she took a bite while simultaneously pouring syrup on her waffle. She glanced over at Henry who sat with a cup of coffee in his hand, watching her. She froze seeing that his eyes were bright with tears.

"What?" She asked, setting the syrup pot down, but he only shook his head, brushing away tears with his hand. She shrugged, recognizing that he'd been far more worried about her than she'd realized. "You don't have to cry, babe." She teased him. "I'll share the bacon."

He'd laughed loudly at this, but she could hear the tears inside it too. She lifted a bit of waffle to her mouth and then glancing at him, reached out and squeezed his fingers with her free hand. His face softened at this, understanding, a tender smile curling his lips. This is what she treasured about the two of them together - words weren't even necessary.

She had just settled back from her second waffle, having polished off an egg white omelette and some bacon. She lifted a cup of coffee to her lips, as the chef approached.

"Madam Secretary," He nodded at her politely. "Was everything to your liking?"

"Yes, thank you. It was delicious."

"Can I get you anything else?" He asked.

"Oh, no, thank you! I couldn't manage another bite." But even as she said it Henry was leaning toward the young chef.

"You know what she really loves, Paul?" He asked. "Those little Italian cookies that you dip in your coffee."

"Biscotti?" Paul asked.

"That's it. She loves those."

"I have my grandmother's recipe, Madam Secretary." He said enthusiastically. "I'll go whip some up for you right now."

She had lifted her hand to protest, but he had already dashed away, muttering ingredients to himself.

"Henry, why did you do that? I can't possibly eat another bite."

"Sure, you can, babe. I bet you twenty dollars if I put a container of ice cream in front of you, you could easily eat half." He teased, reaching out and giving her arm a gentle push. "C'mon, admit it, you could."

"I could not." She shook her head laughing. "You just want me fat so _you_ can be the pretty one."

"Baby, you could weigh 500 lbs and I'd still never be the pretty one." He rose, refilling her cup with coffee, and leaning over kissed her forehead. "Besides, you would have to eat for a week to put back all the weight you've lost." He crossed from the table and sat on the edge of the porch rail, sipping his coffee and looking off into the distance. "Here comes trouble." He said to her, and she followed his line of sight.

"Mom!" Jason called as he and Stevie made their way onto the porch. "Food!" He replied gleefully. "Look Stevie we will survive!"

"We haven't even been gone for two hours, Jason." Stevie complained. "We didn't cross the Sahara. Hi, Mom." She leaned over and kissed her mother's cheek before settling into a chair across the table.

"Where you guys been?" Henry asked.

"Death march." Jason said reaching for a stack of waffles. "Is there any whip cream?"

"We went for a hike." Stevie explained, pouring herself a glass of juice. "He's gonna exaggerate and tell you we were lost for seven days now."

"You did get turned around." He pointed out, shoving half a waffle into his mouth.

"Cut your food, Jason." Elizabeth told him.

"Like we don't have fifteen agents following us." Stevie said rolling her eyes at him.

"Nope." Jason said calmly. "Camp David is the one place we don't."

"Is that true?" Stevie asked her father.

"No one can even come up that road." Henry told her. "They are here, but mostly they watch the periphery. I'm sure they knew where you were."

"Is it morning?" Ali stepped out onto the porch, rubbing her face and looking confused.

Jason laughed out loud at the question, and Henry crossed to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"Almost 4:00, Noodle." He said squeezing her shoulders. "You fell asleep."

"Getting up for school is going to be a nightmare next week." She said with a yawn. "I'm almost completely nocturnal." She moved to sit at the table. "Wait, did Mom actually eat?"

"I'm going to leave that alone seeing as how you just woke up." Elizabeth told her daughter. "I don't need this family watching my every bite."

There was a general snort of laughter from the rest of the family, and Elizabeth looked up at Henry.

"Actually, sweetheart, you kind of do." He told her with a grin. "You forget to eat on your best days, so . . ."

"Are we having a sit down dinner later?" Ali asked, grabbing a piece of toast and rising.

"Probably not, since we all just ate." Her mother told her. "Where are you going?"

"Counseling session." Ali said with a self-conscious laugh. "We are going to delve into the warped mind of the American teenage girl."

"Whose mother happens to be the leader of the free world." Jason said with a snort. "Ask her to explain why you are so obnoxious."

"I doubt we will have time. We are going to be reviewing your flaws." She said turning and stepping off the porch to go the cabin on the opposite end of camp grounds.

"You want me to go with you?" Elizabeth asked.

"No, it's okay, mom." Ali, paused, and then doubling back ran up the steps to give her mother a kiss. "I know I whined about it at first, but," She sighed at this confession, meeting her father's eyes. "You were right. It does help." He smiled at her, but it was her mother's hand, he reached for. "I'll be back for Scrabble." She said over her shoulder as she dashed down the steps and across the grassy lawn.

"What do you guys want to do?" Henry asked them.

"I'm gonna see if I can convince them to make some more waffles." Jason said.

"Like that will be hard for you!" Stevie said. "Mom, he's got them cooking every little thing he asks for. He's never going to adjust back to life in the city."

"Or my cooking." Elizabeth said with a laugh. "Don't abuse their compassion, Jason."

"It makes them feel better." He offered with a shrug.

"A man of the people." Henry said shaking his head.

***MS***

Later that night, they'd hooked up the big outdoor movie screen, and Henry and two of the Camp David staff members built up a bonfire. There were cushions and blankets spread out over the ground which appeared to have been swept for any uncomfortable rocks. Henry settled back, his stomach stretched tight from too many marshmallows - Ali loved to roast them, but not to eat them - tradition dictated that he would eat them for her. Elizabeth settled back against him, her head resting against his chest and all the children spread out around them. They lay under a blanket of stars after finally agreeing on Star Wars which for some reason that none of them could fathom, Jason had actually never seen.

"How is that possible?" Liz asked him. "I feel like we failed as parents."

"It was probably because he couldn't watch something so pedestrian - he's an anarchist, babe."

"Sure, blame the child." He called out from where he'd sat surrounded by bowls of popcorn and candy.

"You'll like this one." Ali told him with a sigh. "The bad guys are the imperials."

Henry laughed at this and winked at Elizabeth. Alison was right. He didn't know how they'd missed it, but this probably would've been Jason's favorite movie of all time when he was ten. He tried to remember what was going on in their lives back then that he'd missed watching it. Liz was still with The Company so life was fairly complicated - of course, life was _always_ complicated for them. He exhaled remembering those days, especially toward the end, when she was torn; her loyalty to Conrad and all of her dearest friends - which included Juliet he considered with a shudder. Things had been hard then. Liz was loyal above anything else, and it had torn her in half to finally decide to walk away - truth be told, her heart was wounded by it.

Liz was a believer. This was a fact that drew her to a life of service, but also made her easy prey. Not that she was weak-spirited or gullible. She could play hardball with any of them. She couldn't be manipulated or guilted into doing anything. Many people mistakenly thought that since she was a woman, her emotions would be easier to toy with, but they quickly discovered that Elizabeth McCord made decisions based on facts. But her belief in the ideal left her vulnerable to disappointment and sorrow. She knew instinctively that she couldn't trust those around her - it wasn't safe, and yet her nature was too trust and believe that everyone she worked with felt the same way she did. It wounded her to discover corruption and dishonesty. Her sense of honor and hope for the future had drawn her to the Company, and then the exact same ideas had caused her to turn away from it - unable to reconcile what was supposed to be with what actually was.

"Henry," Her voice broke through his thoughts. "Henry? Did you fall asleep?" She asked laughing. "Jason, just compared you to Darth Vader."

"I always thought I was more like Han Solo." He commented, thoughtfully.

"This movie is the cheesiest." Jason complained, but he could hear the grin in his son's voice; the pure enjoyment.

"Let's never go back." Ali said wistfully. "Your job would almost be worth it if we could stay here forever."

"The wifi is lame." Jason complained.

"The wifi works fine." Henry said without thinking.

"What?" The shocked eyes of his children shone through the darkness of the night.

"Well, you never really asked, did you?" He said with a laugh. "Seriously, guys, the president comes here - like _he's_ gonna be out of contact."

"I can't believe it!" Stevie said laughing, and then settled back against the pillows. "Oh, well, I don't care. I like it with just us."

Her brother and sister said nothing - their silent agreement. They continued to watch the movie in silence with occasional snorts of disbelief from Jason, who finally turned to his mother and said. "This guy could use some diplomacy lessons from you, Mom. I mean does he really expect to achieve intergalactic control by hardlining everyone? I mean, geez pal, read a history book!"

Elizabeth shook with laughter at this, and Henry was overwhelmed with contentment. He had moments when he secretly wanted to wrap his fingers around Conrad Dalton's neck for the anguish and stress he'd brought Elizabeth, both at The Company and since bringing her to Washington. And yet, he was grateful for this - this ten day respite - this time and space away from everything where they could exhale and be themselves again - unfettered by the secrets of diplomacy and the threat of betrayal. He didn't even begrudge the family counselor he'd sent along - all the kids had seemed to benefit from the outlet - being able to say how they really, truly felt about everything that had happened since their lives had been uprooted and changed. And even if he and Liz couldn't be 100% honest with the counselor themselves, at least he could look someone in the eye and confess his rage and hatred of those bombers. He could speak truth without fear of it being plastered across the paper or weighing down Liz's already burdened shoulders. He knew the next time he saw Conrad Dalton, he would be able to truly meet his eye without any resentment; he understood that Liz was one of kind and someone to be valued. They could agree on this.

Elizabeth curled into his side, and he could tell from her soft breathing, that she was very nearly asleep. He wrapped his arms tighter around her, ignoring the pain in his arm as he did. He turned his gaze up to the blanket of bright stars that were spread across the sky, marveling that the light of the stars that shone down on them now, was from ages past. He wondered sleepily if the stars above them now would pour their light down on their children's grandchildren, as _they _sat around a campfire telling stories of all their ancestors had achieved.

_She served her country as best she could, and it cost her, but she endured anyway for the greater good._

"Dad?" He looked up surprised to see Jason gazing down at him. "Movie's over and Mom's asleep."

"Me too." He said with a yawn. "Where are your sisters?"

"Went to bed." Jason yawned. "Need help?"

"No, I got her. Night, bud."

"Night, Dad. You were right, that was a pretty good movie." He confessed.

He sat where he was, his arms around Elizabeth who seemed to have settled into a deep sleep. He tried to shift to a sitting position, and managed to sit up leaning against the pillows.

"Dr. McCord, can we get you anything else?" Eddie, the young private who always seemed to be hovering nearby, when he needed something, asked. It still surprised him that Camp David was staffed by the military. How strange to think that you could join the Marines and either end up in the middle of the desert, or here, setting up a movie screen for family movie night.

"No, thank you, Eddie. You can go ahead and douse the fire. We're gonna turn in, too."

"Yes, sir. We thought we'd set up the volleyball court tomorrow. We mentioned something to young Alison, and she sounded interested." He said before waving a hand at two other men standing in the distance.

"Thank you. You've been very kind to us. I'm not sure the children will want to go home." He confessed.

"Well, we don't usually get such pleasant visitors and everyone here appreciates the way that Madam Secretary has been so supportive of the armed services."

"She's got a soft spot for Marines." Henry said with grin.

"Yes, sir." Eddie agreed. "If you need anything else, you know how to reach me. Cook asked to tell you that he doesn't mind getting up to cook, if she's hungry."

"Thank you. I appreciate that."

Eddie joined the others, as they worked to clean up the fire pit, putting everything away. _I could get used to this_. Henry thought, he shifted Elizabeth gently, brushing a kiss across her cheek.

"Wake up, babe." He told her softly. "Movie's over. Time for bed."

"What about the kids?" She mumbled sleepily.

"Already in bed. C'mon, soldier," He said rising slowly, and reaching down to her. "On your feet."

She rose slowly, leaning against him, and he wrapped his good arm around her, leading her back to the cabin and up the steps. He expected her to fall instantly asleep, but when he returned from the bathroom, he found her sitting up in bed, a book in her hands. He sat down beside her, and peered closely at the cover.

"Dante?" He asked with raised eyebrows.

"It's yours. You didn't let me bring anything."

"That's not true." He smiled at her. "I packed that romance novel for you."

She laughed at this, shaking her head at him. He crossed the room, clicking off the overhead light so that the only light in the room, were the bedside lamps.

"I thought you were sleepy?" He asked, settling back into bed.

"I am." She said setting the book aside. "Don't you ever read anything that doesn't require absolute focus?"

"Look who's asking." He said with a chuckle. He moved closer to her, sliding an arm around her. "You hungry?"

"No." Her voice was soft, and sleepy.

"How's the head?" She still had headaches, not that she would ever complain about them, but he knew they still bothered her.

"No headache." She rolled toward him, resting her head against his chest, her hand making distracting circles over his bare skin. "You think the kids are doing okay?"

"What?" He asked, trying to focus on the sound of her voice.

"The kids? You think they are doing okay?"

He turned toward her, so that his face was just inches from hers. He reached out, his fingers on her hip, pulling her closer.

"Henry?" She asked laughing. "What about . . ."

"What kids?" He asked, his smile widening as he leaned closer, kissing her.

***MS***

They all slept late, again and enjoyed another outdoor breakfast. Henry was pleased to see Elizabeth eating again. He felt his entire being relaxing as she joked and teased with the children. They went for a short hike into the hills, but he sent her back to the cabin after a few hours for a nap. And they actually slept - for most of the time.

He understood that all of this was temporary. He knew that it was coming to an end soon. They would have to return to their real lives. School, work and all the stresses - and dangers. He tried not to think that far ahead, but it was in the late afternoon that the sight of a long black car reminded him that they had given up the rights to their own lives, when they had chosen a life of service. They were all sitting around outside, having just finished a late lunch, when the car pulled up.

"Back to real life." Jason said with a sigh, and Elizabeth, who was sitting to his left, reached out to brush a hand through his hair.

"Sorry, buddy."

"That's okay, Mom." He turned to her, quick to alleviate her guilt. "We stay here too much longer, and I'm gonna get fat."

She laughed at this, rising to meet Blake who stepped out of the car, dressed in a dark suit.

"Blake!" She said smiling. "I thought you were coming tomorrow?"

"Well, everyone else is, but I thought you might want to prep and go over some things before they got here." He glanced around. "It certainly is rustic, isn't it?"

"Tell me, you brought something beside suits." She asked laughing. "You do own _something beside_ suits, don't you?"

"Hi, Blake." Henry said, walking up and reaching out to shake his hand.

"Hello, sir."

Henry reached out wrapping an arm around, Elizabeth's shoulders. "You know," Henry told her. "It might even things out - Blake being here."

"Yes! Of course!" Her face grew bright with happiness. She turned around and called to the McCord children who were still sitting around the table. "Blake will make up for Dad having one arm!" She turned to face Blake. "It's absolutely perfect you are here! We challenged the guys to a volleyball game, but they claimed it was unfair because Henry only has one arm. Come on." She reached out, and pulled him by his arm toward the volleyball court that had been set up on the lawn in front of the main lodge.

"Volleyball?" Blake sputtered. "Madam Secretary, I'm not really . . .I don't quite know the rules of . . .I don't think that would help at all."

"What's the matter, Blake?" Stevie asked teasingly. "Don't you know how to play volleyball?"

"Well, to be honest," He confessed watching as the family assembled themselves on the court. "We weren't really a sports kind of family."

"Ha!" Elizabeth said laughing. "Now, I understand why you never sweat! Blake! Have you ever played any sport?"

"I was co-captain of the badminton team." He responded defensively. "We were undefeated."

"This isn't the least bit fair!" Jason complained. "You take Blake. We get Alison."

"Uh, huh." Alison called from across the court. "Boys against girls. Deal with it."

"Ma'am, I'm not sure. . ." Blake began, but Henry was already pulling him by the arm onto the volleyball court.

"Better take off your jacket, Blake!" Elizabeth called as she dashed around to the other side of the volleyball court. "I'm not paying for your dry cleaning this time!"

***MS***

The children had decided to go swimming, and the McCords and Blake sat in the adirondack chairs that lined the pool. Henry had gone inside to see if he could convince the kitchen to make some snacks. Elizabeth leaned back in her chair her eyes closed.

"So, has the world burned to the ground without my influence?" She asked, opening her eyes and turning to Blake.

"Not quite, but the loss of your influence has been noted." He answered. "Matt is back at work, although, he's got another surgery in a few weeks."

"That's too bad." She said softly, a sadness dimming her features.

"He's doing fine. You'll see yourself tomorrow afternoon."

"It's was sweet of you to come up early."

"Well, I must confess, six days without your guidance has left me a bit lost." He smiled at her.

"I can imagine!" She laughed.

"It is good to see you looking so much . . ." He struggled, unsure of what to say. 

"I was a bit of a wreck the last time you saw me, and you were very patient. Thank you, Blake. And thank you for being someone I can trust."

"Yes, ma'am." He smiled at her, all sarcasm washed from his voice and expression. "I serve at the pleasure." He grinned at her.

Henry approached, three beers in his hand.

"Here babe." He said handing one to Elizabeth and sitting on the arm of her chair. "I wasn't sure, Blake. Beer?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

"Liz, trying to get you to talk about work?" Henry asked, handing Blake a beer. "She's not supposed to do any work until tomorrow morning."

"I'm sitting right here." She protested.

"Yes, dear." Henry said, shaking his head at her.

"No, Dr. McCord. The president gave pretty clear instructions before I left. I wouldn't be surprised if he put some kind of bug on me to make sure I complied."

"I hope not!" Elizabeth said lifting the beer to her lips.

"Well, we are happy to have you here all the same." Henry said to Blake. "Even if you are a terrible volleyball player. At least when the rest of the wolves show up tomorrow, I know at one person will be considering things from her perspective."

"I can look out for myself, thank you." She protested.

"Yes, ma'am. There's no doubt of that." Blake agreed. "Still," He paused thoughtfully, a beer bottle to his lips. "It never hurts to have back up."

Henry smiled at this, squeezing Elizabeth's shoulder. "Blake, have you met Stevie?" He asked as Elizabeth protested.

"That's enough, Henry." She said giving him a shove. "Ignore him Blake, he's got no perspective when it comes to me."

"Understandably." Blake agreed leaning back in his chair and looking up into the bright blue sky. He drew in a deep breath of air. "Why does it smell so strange around here?"

"Have you ever left the city?" Elizabeth asked laughing.

"That's fresh air, Blake." Henry explained patiently. "Elizabeth, really. Do you keep him locked at his desk?"

"I never really thought about it." Elizabeth said. "He's always there. Do you live at your desk, Blake?" She leaned closer, studying him thoughtfully.

"Well, usually, but lately the boss has been out of town so . . ." He winked at her.


	21. Chapter 21

Blake Moran quietly surveyed the room. They had set up in the main lodge, which was generally reserved for the President, but as he wasn't currently at Camp David, it had the best space for their meetings. He was surprised that the McCord family hadn't chosen to stay in the Aspen Lodge - they certainly were in a position to take advantage of the best Camp David had to offer. But then again, his experience was that the McCord family wasn't interested in taking advantage of anything. He glanced at the watch on his wrist, and saw that it was getting late.

Nadine's voice seemed to drone on and on, and he glanced over at Madam Secretary who was staring at the window. Following her line of sight, he could see that she was watching her husband toss a football back and forth with Jason McCord. The room felt heavy with boredom and weariness.

"Madam Secretary," He interrupted, keeping his voice soft and polite. "It is nearly 4:00, and as per our agreement, no work can go beyond 3:45."

"Blake, we are in the middle of . . ." Jay protested.

"By order of the President." He added, and the room grew silent.

"Well, the President isn't here, just now, Blake." Secretary McCord said, turning and rising. She stretched as she stood, and turned to face her staff. "Ten more minutes, Nadine, and then we are calling it a day."

Blake hesitated, a protest on his lips, but reconsidered. Battling with Elizabeth McCord was no small thing, and after all, who was he to tell her how long she ought to work. She stepped closer to him, putting a hand on his arm.

"Don't worry, Blake. President Dalton isn't tracking your every move. Do me a favor and go outside and tell Dr. McCord, I get the hint and that I will be out in about fifteen minutes."

"Yes, ma'am." Blake nodded his head, and turned to go outside, but she called to him.

"And tell him to go ahead and get the volleyball court ready. Staff versus family in thirty minutes." She winked at him.

"Oh, dear, ma'am." He began remembering his sad previous volleyball performance. "Surely, I've been humiliated enough?"

"Don't worry, Blake," She stepped closer to him, whispering dramatically. "You get to play on Team McCord."

***MS***

"Fred Cole!" Elizabeth shouted joyfully, rising from the dinner table. Her staff and family had assembled around the large dining table in Aspen Lodge. They had just been served a dessert of ice cream sundaes and coffee, when Fred Cole stepped into the lodge. Elizabeth rose from where she was sitting and crossed to where he stood near the doorway.

"Madam Secretary." He nodded curtly. "Dr. McCord." He added seeing Henry, who had also crossed the room to meet him.

"That's no way to be!" Elizabeth said, pulling the tall agent into a hug.

He accepted the embrace with grace, but stepping back from her said, "Madam Secretary, you are completely destroying any credibility I had with your staff."

"Oh, who cares about them." She waved them away with her hand. "Do you want some ice cream?"

"No, ma'am, but I was hoping to review our plans for the rest of the week."

"How is the arm?" Henry asked him. "That must be a world-record recovery."

"World-record recovery from what?" Elizabeth asked, her brows wrinkled.

"It's nothing Madam Secretary." Fred dodged. "You plan to leave the day after tomorrow, correct?"

"Don't try and change the subject." Her tone was sharp, and she turned to her husband. "Henry? What did you forget to tell me?"

"Now, that I think about it, babe, I may have misspoken." Henry attempted.

Fred sighed heavily. "You, of all people, should know that won't work." He turned toward Elizabeth. "I had surgery on my arm."

"You were injured worse than you admitted?" She asked, her face suddenly pale.

"It wasn't like that, ma'am. We were hoping to avoid surgery, but it didn't heal properly. It isn't anything to be concerned about. It is taken care of now, and I was requalified just this morning."

"Nothing to be concerned about!" Her eyes grew wide. "You were hurt because of . . ."

"A madman." Henry said, cutting her off.

"He's right, ma'am. It had nothing to do with you. It's just part of the job, and you don't need to be worried. The qualification process is rigorous. I am fully capable of managing any situation."

"As if I'm worried about that!" She shook her head. "Really, you are ridiculous." She sighed, turning to Henry, but he remained silent. "I'm sorry you were hurt, Fred."

"It wasn't your fault, ma'am." His voice was gentle, and suddenly the room felt too warm. Henry reached out squeezing her arm as Fred said this, but she stepped away from them both. They followed her outside onto the porch.

"Madam Secretary?" Fred asked, a look of concern on his face. She smiled up at him, and glanced at Henry, who stood beside him.

"You are right, of course. It's not our fault we were nearly blown to bits."

"Yes, ma'am." Fred agreed, and Henry's smile grew wide.

"It only took you seven weeks, four days and," Henry glanced at his watch. "About 6 and 1/2 hours to figure that out."

"Well, I'm no marine." She said with a self-decpricating laugh. Henry moved closer, sliding an arm around her. They both looked up at Fred who faced them.

"I'm just pleased that you are alright." Agent Cole said to her. "I'm not sure I can go back to gaurding politicians. It would be so dull."

Elizabeth laughed, and stepping away from Henry, reached out to put a hand on Fred's arm. "I was just wondering if your wife would mind if I gave you a kiss." She smiled up at him, her eyes bright.

"Not unless, it bothers Dr. McCord." Fred said glancing at Henry.

"Oh, no." Henry said with a laugh. "It doesn't bother me. I already gave Fred a kiss."

She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek, Fred blushed, and ducked his head, and Elizabeth stepped back, as Henry slid a strong arm around her shoulders, giving them a gentle, affection squeeze.

"Well," Fred said, after a long pause. "I suppose we left appropriate boundaries far behind."

"Yes." She agreed. "I suppose you could say they were blown to bits."

"Yes, ma'am." He nodded his head. "And about that note you sent. It wasn't necessary. I understood."

"Still, I shouldn't have cursed at you like that." She said blushing. "It wasn't your fault that Henry refused protection."

"Liz, what did you . . ."

"I was angry, Henry." She said pointedly, an edge of anger in her voice. "I told you that."

"But it wasn't Fred's fault!"

"Well, you were in Georgetown rushing a deranged kid with a semi-automatic weapon, and Fred, well, he was standing next to me - in the line of fire." She grinned sheepishly at this.

"That's alright, Mr. McCord, I'm used to it. Like I said, just another day at the office." He reached out and squeezed Elizabeth's arm. "If there's nothing else, Madam Secretary, my men and I will set up a plan for departure."

"Yes, thank you, Agent Cole." Her voice was all business, and Henry had to laugh at the sound of Bess, in action, but she winked at Fred as she said it.

"You're welcome, ma'am." He nodded at Henry. "Thank you, Dr. McCord."

They stood together a moment on the porch. After a few minutes, Henry slid an arm around her shoulders and said, "You cursed him out?"

"Yes." She said, blushing. "I felt an unholy rage." She shrugged her shoulders, and faced him. "Just be glad you weren't nearby."

"Yes, ma'am." He agreed.

***MS***

Henry awoke to find the bed beside him empty. Rubbing his eyes, he climbed out of bed, a padded barefoot out into the main room of the cabin. Glancing around, he couldn't see Elizabeth anywhere, and so he continued out onto the wide porch. He glanced around, his eyes adjusting to the moonlight, and saw her in the distance.

They'd had a last bonfire, and one last movie under the stars. It wasn't as perfect as the night they'd introduced Jason to Star Wars. They were surrounded by her staff, and the kids seemed more than ready to return to the world that included more than just their parents. The bonfire had been doused, but she stood now by the embers which glowed out in the darkness of the midnight sky.

"What's a matter, baby?" He asked, as he crossed to her. "Can't sleep?"

"Just restless." She said smiling, and turning to him. "I'm sorry I woke you."

He shrugged his shoulders, and stepping closer wrapped his arms around her from behind. She immediately leaned back against him, her hands on his arms.

"So," He said softly. "Back to the city."

"Yes."

"You ready?"

She drew in a deep breath, pausing to consider the question. "I am. You?"

"Well, I'm never ready to send you back into the world, but I can stick it out a little bit longer. This world-leader nonsense is just for now, not for always, right?" He kissed her cheek. "But, babe, you gotta work on that not getting blown up part of things."

"I'll give it a try." She said with a laugh. "But only if you promise to lay off the Super Hero Routine."

"I'll do my best."

She said nothing else and he kept his arms around her as they stood together looking up into a night strewn with stars. After a time, a cool breeze picked up and she shivered in his arms.

"You're cold." He whispered. "Let's go back to bed." He turned to go, but she held onto his arm, stopping him.

"Henry,"

"What?" He turned to face her, his brows furrowed.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry about everything. I know it makes it difficult for you and I would never have taken the job if . . ."

He was quiet a moment, but then turned to face her, his hands on her shoulders. "You know, Thomas Aquinas said . . ." He began, and she ducked her head laughing.

"Somehow, it always comes back to him."

"He said," Henry continued, ignoring her jab. "'A man who works with his hands is a laborer; a man who works with his hands and his brains is a craftsman; but a man who works with his hands, and his brains, and his heart is an artist.'"

"And what does that mean?" She asked, leaning back to look up into his face.

"It means," He explained quietly. "That you, Elizabeth McCord, are an artist, and all of this will be forever remembered as your greatest work." This tremendous compliment left her temporarily speechless, and smiling he kissed her.

He led her inside, and she was happy to snuggle down under the warm blankets, and into his warm embrace, but later, as she watched the sky grow bright with streaks of red and gold, she thought again about what he'd said.

"Henry?" She whispered to him.

"Hmmm?" He murmured sleepily.

"It won't be what I did in Washington that will be my," She paused, correcting herself, "_Our _greatest work."

He rolled over on his side, opening his eyes. "What then?"

"This." She said moving back into his arms. "You and me. We lived it and we survived it, and we are still here together." She tilted her head back to lift her face to his, her lips brushing his. "We are making something that will last longer than just these difficult days of service. Something that will last longer than just for now."

***MS***

_Author's Note:_

_Well, they killed Fred which kind of messes up my story. And also, I really liked him. I put my money on the wrong guy, but I guess I should have known. Henry has mentioned Frank by name at least three times, and never Fred. _

_I originally thought of this story as happening after this season, but now it fits nowhere within the time frame. I could go back and change Ali to 15 which would put this before Liz being practically blown to bits in Iran. I am still in recovery from THAT whole mess! And I am happy that we at long last got to hear Henry actually tell Elizabeth that he loves her - but HE HAS STILL NEVER CALLED HER BY NAME. The whole Bess/Liz thing perplexes me. _

_Of course, I'm still in recovery from the latest episode and anxious to see next weeks. Watching Henry cry just about did me in. And believe it or not, I've still got one chapter left, if you can manage to read just a smidge more. Thanks for the reviews._


	22. Chapter 22

Why it had to be so ridiculously and unseasonably cold _after_ they returned home was beyond Elizabeth McCord's comprehension. She wouldn't have minded the bone chilling freeze if she were dressed in her jeans and layers and layers of sweaters, but dressed in a thin suit or dress, there was no way for her to avoid the impact of the arctic turn the weather had taken. She found herself rushing from car to building as quickly as possible, and never once considered meeting Henry for a walk in the nearby park.

Blake had noted her return to the office with a watchful and cautious eye. Knowing that the President and Russell had spoken with him on more than one occasion initially gave her pause. Were they still checking in with him to check up on her? He was such a conscientious worker, but it was hard to tell if he was being his normal attentive self - or spying on her. Her second day back, she decided, as was typical, to take the bull by the horns, and requested a meeting with Conrad.

"Bess!" He said, smiling as she entered the oval office.

"Mr. President." She nodded at him.

"It is good to have you back." He remarked waving his hand at the sofa behind her. He settled himself into his usual chair.

"Well, I'm happy to be back at work." She told him. "Henry and I are very appreciative of all you did for us. It was a necessary break."

"Elizabeth McCord! Did you just tell me I was right?" His eyes grew wide in mock surprise, and he laughed.

"It isn't very Presidential to gloat. Besides, I'd like to think my influence led to you being right. My impeccable logic is rubbing off on you. It's been nearly a year since you brought me on board."

"That must be it." He agreed. "I have to say you gave us a scare there, and I don't just mean the bombing."

"Yes, sir. I apologize for that. It was too much to just head back to work the next day. I should have known better."

"I don't know." He considered. "I've never met a good soldier or operative who did." He leaned forward his hands on his knees. "You do the job, Elizabeth, and then you go home. You know that. It's Lesson One."

"Yes."

He leaned back in his chair. "But sometimes it follows you home." He lifted a hand, indicating the White House. "Or in my case, they never let you go home." He sighed. "But you didn't come to talk about the past. You are here because you think I manipulated your staffer."

"I didn't say that." She told him, her hands lifted out toward him.

"But it is why you are here. Look, I did what I had to. You know the drill."

"I do." She agreed. "But I really am better now, and Blake will be riddled with guilt if you continue to push him. I rely on him, and I can't have him stressed out that he's betraying me every time he says hello to you."

"You have always been so good at reading people." He shook his head. "That kid's loyal with a capital L!"

"I wasn't good at reading Juliet." She said softly.

"No." He said sternly. "That's just crap that warped things. You knew Juliet. She changed, and you had left. You can't kick yourself for missing it."

"Well, she always was better at it than the rest of us." Elizabeth considered thoughtfully. "I mean, no one could lie like her. I always felt guilty about it. I _still_ feel guilty about it!"

"I'll lay off Blake." He told her. "I already had, really. But you do anything erratic and I'll haul his ass back in here. He's very useful."

"He'd be a good recruit." She agreed. "If we could get him to overcome his integrity and honesty."

"Well, sometimes people with honesty and integrity make the best operatives of all. Who's gonna doubt their stories?" He studied her thoughtfully.

"The cost gets too high, though." She admitted, bridging the topic they never discussed - they hadn't even touched since she'd walked away from it all ten years ago.

"Your problem is you married a priest!" He said laughing, and breaking the tension. "How the hell are you gonna do your job and then go home at night and lie to a holy man!"

"Henry's no priest, but it pretty much sums up the problem." She sighed. "On the other hand, you should let it go. It's been a decade. I mean I felt bad about it - I still feel bad about it, but if I hadn't quit, who would be your Secretary of State right now?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

"It was all part of your master plan to become a world power?" He laughed at this. "Alright then, I'll give you a pass." They both rose to their feet.

"Thank you, Mr. President, for everything, and for leaving Blake alone." She held out her hand, but instead of shaking it, he held tightly to it.

"I never blamed you for walking away, Bess. The job is too hard if you've actually got something to lose. Most of us didn't. I knew it wouldn't last, and I'll confess to trying to use you as long as possible. The way you can see through things, that's not tradecraft, that's a gift, but you were never going to be career. You can't do that job and have a soul." He squeezed her hand, finally releasing it. "And God knows, I need you here, so it was all for the best, right?"

"Yes sir. Although, I never got hit with a bomb when I was inside." She grinned at him.

"Get back to work, Madam Secretary." He waved a hand dismissively at her.

"Yes sir, Mr. President."

***MS***

Alison McCord studied her reflection in the mirror. She pushed her hair behind her shoulder, and leaned closer, studying her eyes. She reached up with her pinkie and carefully smudged the line under her eye. Then she stepped back studying her face again.

There were many things that she appreciated about her parents. They were generally fair and reasonable. They didn't have ridiculous arbitrary rules - or at least not many of them. They were relatively calm about grades unless you were just slacking off. They were most definitely happy to be married to each other - which was comforting. Some of her friends' parents seemed to be in a constant war, or seemed to ignore each other completely. And although it was a little bit depressing to see her Dad moping around the house alone when her Mom put in long hours, it comforted her to watch his eyes light up when she walked in the door.

But there were some challenges. Her parents were completely united. You couldn't play one off the other to get what you wanted - and it didn't matter if her mother was half way around the world in China, her Dad would find a way to communicate with her. They were a little more kissy than she would like - although they didn't make out in public, but they weren't shy about kissing at home.

But her greatest challenge stemmed from her mother. Elizabeth McCord was ridiculously beautiful. It had always been there - hiding under the surface. She remembered coming out to the barn where her mother had been mucking out stables - her hair was a disaster and she was wearing a ridiculous pair of overalls and yellow wellingtons - and she looked like she belonged on the cover of some Country Living magazine. No matter what she was always gorgeous - 4 a.m. in p.j.s and a robe, Saturday morning in sweats and in an old t-shirt of her Dad, or an evening gown on the way to the opera - Elizabeth McCord shone like a diamond. It was a lot to live up to.

The problem had only gotten worse since they'd moved to Washington. No one on earth needed a stylist less than her mother - and yet, the stylist had magnified everything about her mother's beauty. The press talked about it nonstop for weeks after the change, and generally it was the first thing anyone she met every said to her - once they learned who her mother was. "Your mom is just so beautiful."

"Yes." She would say politely. "She really is."

She'd complained about it to her father when she was twelve and going through a terrible phase. A friend had convinced her to cut her hair short and she hated it! She still had braces, and her skin was awful. She was ridiculously skinny - she looked like a boy in everything she wore - not one curve. She had stayed in her room one morning, refusing to go to school until her father had hunted her down.

"_Ali, come on. You are going to be late!"_

"_I'm not going!" She had protested angrily from inside her closet._

"_Honey, we don't have time for this! I've got a class in an hour. If you miss your bus, I'll be late."_

"_Dad, I can't go to school. Look at me!" She'd stepped out of the closet feeling like a grotesque freak._

"_What am I supposed to see?" He asked, perplexed._

"_Are you sure I'm not adopted?" She had asked her shoulders sagging._

"_Pretty sure." He said, sighing and sitting down on the end of her bed. "What is going on?"_

"_I don't look anything like mom!" She moaned, flopping dramatically down on the carpet. "I mean look at me!"_

_His face had softened into a smile. "Oh, well, honey. You are beautiful."_

"_No, I'm not. Mom is beautiful - even Stevie is pretty! I'm a weirdo freak!"_

"_It feels that way sometimes, I know." He considered thoughtfully. "Sometimes when I'm with mom, that's how I feel. But you are beautiful Ali."_

"_You are my Dad. You've got no perspective."_

"_That might be, Noodle. But, I'm the one who was smart enough to marry your mom, so I must have pretty good sense about beauty, don't you think?"_

He was great at explaining things, and she loved the way he could make sense of anything. And while she still felt skinny, and awkward and funny looking - at least_ he_ thought she was pretty. She took comfort in that. But some days, it still bothered her.

She took one last look at her reflection, and straightened her skirt before heading downstairs. She could hear her sister and Dad in the kitchen, and turned the corner to see them, but Stevie cut her off at the bottom of the stairs.

"You look fancy. Where you going?"

"Annabelles. Her mom's taking us downtown shopping." She moved to step around her sister.

"Dad's watching Mom's press conference." Stevie explained. "Maybe you want to wait a minute."

Up until the bombing, she'd watched every single press conference her mother had given. She watched most of her speeches, even sat through that torturous congressional hearing. She liked seeing her mom in action - knowing what she was doing. It made her feel close even when her mom was so busy that she didn't make it home.

But she couldn't bring herself to watch any more.

They'd returned home from Camp David, and she felt pretty good. She hadn't had any more nightmares, and had been able to watch her mom leave for work in the morning without a panic attack. Her third day back at work, she'd held a press conference - or maybe it was a clip on the news from one of her speeches - she couldn't remember now. One minute she'd been standing in the kitchen with a glass of orange juice in her hand watching her mother on the screen, and the next she'd found herself unable to breath, and falling to the ground. Stevie had been out, Jason playing basketball outside, and her father had been at his desk working on his book. She hadn't screamed, just fallen to the ground. It was only the glass shattering that had brought her father in the room.

"Ali?" His eyes had grown wide with shock, and his face turned ghostly white, as he slid to the floor, lifting her up. "Honey? What's wrong? What is it?"

But she couldn't speak - couldn't breath. He'd picked her up, sat her in a chair, and gently pushed her head down low.

"Breathe, baby. Just breathe." He'd whispered as he knelt beside her. "You're okay. Focus on your heart. Try and slow it down. You can do it, Noodle. In 2, 3, and out 2, 3. It's okay, baby. Just breathe."

It had taken every ounce of her focus to get her heart back under control. And then when it was over she'd felt embarrassed and exhausted - she was stunned that such a stupid thing could leave her feeling like she'd just finished a marathon.

"I'm sorry." She'd said, trying not to cry. It seemed that there had been way too much crying lately. "I don't know what . . ."

"Hey, don't apologize." He had said, kissing her forehead. "It's alright."

"I always watch her on tv." She'd said softly.

"Maybe not today." He said moving to kneel in front of her. "You want to go lie down?"

"That was really . . . I'm so tired." She said, finding it difficult to keep her eyes open. "Are you still working on your book?"

"I can take a break." He said running a hand over her back. "C'mon. You wanna lie down in our bed?"

And she'd had to lean on him all the way up the stairs. She'd collapsed onto her parent's bed feeling like a baby. Her father had pulled a quilt over her, and then sat beside her reading. She was glad he'd stayed with her, and she'd fallen asleep to the familiar sound of the soft turn of the page, and the occasional scratch of his pencil across paper as he took notes. She'd awoken hours later to find him replaced by her mother - glasses perched on her nose, a laptop open in front of her.

"Hey, sweetheart." Her mother had said, setting aside the laptop, and taking off her glasses.

"Mom." She had said smiling up at her mother.

"You hungry?" Her mom had asked, but Ali had only been able to shake her head, tears filling her dark eyes.

"Kind of a crappy day, huh?" Her mom said sinking down, and sliding her arms around her. And even though the ridiculous panic attack had been scary, and humiliating, she remembered the day with fondness - feeling at the center of her parent's love - safe - her mom home for once.

"It's not a long conference." Stevie said gently, bringing her back to the present. "But if you want I can drive you to Annabelle's so you don't have to wait for Dad."

"No, it's okay." She had said stepping around Stevie. "I'll be okay." She stepped nervously into the kitchen where her father stood staring at the tv. He glanced over at her.

"Hey, Noodle." He said turning quickly and reaching for the remote.

"That's okay, Dad. Stevie told me. I'm okay." She stepped further into the room, and turned to face the tv. Her mother stood at a podium. She was wearing a dark suit, but with a bright green shirt. Ali couldn't quite focus on the words, she could hear a pounding in her ears, but she focused in, keeping her heart rate slow and steady. They were in question and answer and her mother raised a hand to point to a reporter. The sleeves of her suit were 3/4 so you could see her hand and wrist. No one else would probably notice it, but Ali could see the line of the scar where the blast had hit her mother. It was a faint pink line that was healing - getting stronger. She watched her mother's face, as she turned to smile at a reporter, but felt her father's eyes resting on her. Stevie stood a step to her left, and put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"You okay?" Stevie asked softly.

"Yeah." Ali answered, exhaling slowly. She turned to her father. "Mom looks good, doesn't she?"

"She looks great." He said, but wasn't watching the screen.

He wrapped his arm around her, bending low to kiss her forehead, and she stood secure between her older sister and father, as her mother spoke of peace and hope.

***MS***

Elizabeth McCord stepped into the familiar warmth of home, grateful to be out of the cold. It was nearly ten on a Friday night. She hadn't been home since Wednesday afternoon, when she'd come home to meet up with Henry and go with him to get his cast taken off. He'd joked about it - saying he felt like a ten year old boy going to the doctor with his mommy. But despite his casual attitude, there had been some concern about the tendons in his hand - that he'd have permanent loss of movement, so she'd insisted on tagging along. The doctor's news had been somewhere in between great and horrible - he couldn't bend his pinkie at all and probably never would. He'd laughed it off, but it bothered her. Not that they'd had any time to talk about it. She'd been called back to the office, and hadn't been home since.

She found her entire family sprawled out in the living room watching Return of the Jedi - surrounded by bowls of popcorn.

"But he kissed her in the first movie!" Jason was saying. "That's gross!"

"Hey! Babe!" Henry said rising from the couch and pulling her into a hug.

"Mom!" Ali called out.

"Are you hungry?" Stevie asked her rising and heading to the kitchen.

"No, I ate earlier. I thought you'd be in bed." She smiled happily, melting into Henry's embrace. "I'm so happy to see you guys."

"We're watching the destruction of the Empire." Jason told her. "Did you know they were twins?"

She moved over to the couch sitting down beside Ali. Henry sat on the other side, pulling her back against his chest.

"I don't remember what I thought the first time I saw it." She confessed. "I just went to see to humor your Dad." She jabbed his ribs gently with her elbow. "He's the nerd."

"Oh, please." He moaned, tickling her side. "_I _was voted one of the twenty hottest men just last week."

"That is so embarrassing." Ali said. "You know someone taped ten copies of that magazine to my locker."

"What?" Elizabeth sat up, angry. "You didn't tell us that!"

"It's no big deal." Ali said. "My history teacher saw it and found out who did it. They had to help the janitor after school for a week. I didn't even have to complain about it. I guess someone went to her, and spoke up for me."

"So is the world safe for tonight?" Stevie asked, handing her mother a cup of tea.

"Oh, thank you!" Elizabeth said. "It's freezing out there!" She took a sip. "I imagine it is safe enough for me to try and get four or five hours of sleep. So, what's been going on around here?"

"Well, other than my rise in popularity, not too much else," Henry answered. "But Jason has some news."

"I made the debate team." He said sheepishly.

"You did!" She grinned. "That's great! I thought you missed the trials?"

"I did, but they took pity on me seeing as how I missed it when Dad was doing his Captain America routine. The coach let me participate in a practice tournament, and said if I could keep up, he'd let me on the team." He blushed. "I'm not captain or anything. I'm probably the worst on the team."

"For now." Elizabeth said reaching forward to where he sat on cushions on the ground, and running a hand through his hair. "You'll catch on. It's genetic."

He laughed at this. "I don't really have any ambitions toward becoming captain, Mom. I just thought it would be fun, and I don't know - I like to argue."

"We are aware of this." Henry said. Elizabeth set her tea down on the coffee table and tucking her legs underneath herself, settled back in Henry's arms. They turned their attention back to the movie, and even though she was exhausted, she was content to sit in the comforting center of her family. It seemed that second later, her peace was interrupted by the all too familiar rumble of a cell phone.

"Ah, hell." She said reaching into her pocket, but her phone was dark.

"It's me." Stevie said with a grin. "It's Greg."

"Greg?" Elizabeth turned to her husband. "Who's Greg?"

"They met on the Metro." Alison said. "He gave up his seat for her."

"It's a very romantic story." Henry said laughing. "I would be nervous about it, but I take comfort that she is surrounded by a security detail that is heavily armed at all times."

"You meet him?" She asked trying to hide the hurt in her voice. She hated missing out on their lives.

"Not yet. I figured we would wait so you could practice your interrogation skills." He kissed her cheek. 

"It's Stevie, Mom." Jason said patiently. "She'll change her mind in a minute."

"The kid's got a point." Henry said with a shrug.

***MS***

She'd fallen asleep before the Empire was defeated. The kids had gone up to bed, but Henry had shifted her, so that she slept with her head in his lap, as he sat reading in lamplight. She'd woken up around midnight, and was briefly disoriented, but had caught herself before panic set in.

"You okay?" Henry had asked, feeling her shudder.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

He'd reached out squeezing her shoulder. "It's late. You should be in bed." He said setting his book aside. She'd sighed contentedly before rising slowly. She stood unsteadily, surprised to find she was still in her suit. She held out a hand to Henry, who smiling took it, kissing her fingers before following her upstairs.

"You haven't said anything about what the doctor said." She said as they entered their bedroom.

"Oh, I don't know. I guess it'd bother me if I were still active duty." He shrugged. "It's just a pinkie, Babe."

She slid out of her suit, sinking into the bed, too tired to even grab her pajamas. "Slow down your typing hand." She said sleepily.

"I guess." He clicked out the overhead light, slipping into bed beside her. Hon?"

"Yeah?" She asked.

"You have to go in tomorrow?"

"I'm not planning on it." She said rolling toward him, her bright eyes settling on him. "But who knows. Canada might threaten to attack before the dawn."

"You could take Canada, Babe. Easy." He pulled the covers over her. "God, you are freezing." He pulled her close to his body.

"It was 20 below at at 6 today." She said, yawning.

"I came home from my class at 2 and haven't been out since. I made Jason get the mail. I had to pay him twenty bucks."

"They say it is supposed to be even colder tomorrow."

"Let's stay in bed all day." He said kissing the tip of her nose, and squeezing her hip.

"Only if you let me sleep for some of it."

"Sure, Babe." He laughed. He ran a hand back and forth over her back saying nothing. Her eyes drifted shut, and felt herself drifting away. He slid down in bed next to her, his face just inches from hers.

"Lizzie?" He whispered, but she didn't open her eyes just mumbled a soft, "Mmm?"

"It was sixty days ago, exactly." She opened her eyes.

"Really?" He nodded his head and she considered this thoughtfully.

"Remember right after?" She asked him. "I said I wanted it to be over and us on the other side?"

"Yeah." He sat up on one arm, gazing down at her, a hand brushing through her hair.

"We're there now." She smiled up at him, and he leaned down kissing her.

"Close your eyes and go to sleep, Elizabeth." He whispered, breaking away from her, and kissing her forehead.

"I thought . . ."

"You haven't slept in two days, I bet." He laughed. "Go to sleep. I can wait."

Her eyelashes fluttered as she tried to keep her eyes open. "'I missed you, babe." She said softly. "I hate when things get crazy like that."

"Me too." He agreed, pulling the blanket up over her bare shoulder. "But it won't be like this for always."

"Just for now." She mumbled sleepily as she drifted off content in his arms.

The End

_Author's Note:_

_Thank you for all of the kind words and encouragement. I hope the end was satisfying to all. As for me, I am waiting for Sunday to see how they resolve things. I can't say the last episode left me feeling good about poor Elizabeth! Although, I am hoping in all the angst of the next episode, Henry says her name - I am intensely curious if he will call her Liz or Bess._

_I like the characters far too much not to end up writing another story about them. I love a show where a couple is happily married. Wishing everyone health and happiness. And is anyone else suspicious of the President? I'm nervous that she's going to be betrayed again. Fingers crossed!_


End file.
